Evening of felines

    The spray can felt cumbersome in my hand. Jeff, in his plaintative manner, was spraying carefully behind me, not at all ruffled by the potential consequences of what we were doing. Everything felt so much more suspect in the dark of the night.

    "Could you maybe please spray a bit quieter?" I whispered to him over my shoulder.

    "Would you just relax? Keep watch, it'll be fine. Besides, I already told this was commissioned." Jeff whispered back, clicking his tongue in slight annoyance. He had long since mastered the ability to speak through his particulate mask clearly.

    "If this is all fine and legal then why do I need to 'stand watch'?" I felt my goosebumps grow into what might as well be splinters of cold, splintered skin. Of all the nights, the five degree night Jeff picks. Sometimes, I can only trust that my friend and small business counterpart is doing the right thing.

    He doesn't really disappoint though. We've been doing all kinds of practical art commissions for about three years now. With Jeff as the main producer of the art, since he is disciplined in multiple mediums and can adapt various styles, and me as the main negotiator guy, we make good business. Plus, we're flexible and can always squeeze a job into a weekend or switch roles when the other is a little caught up.

    I'm a little bit more timid of less than safe endeavours, however.

    " 'Cause anyone but the commissioner is likely to disapprove of this particular piece of art?" Jeff replied in a tone that actually communicates a sense of 'dude, calm down, you're kinda losing it'.

    I find it hard to read his language, verbally and physically, because of his punk look. He has black, shiny-from-God-knows-what hair, pale skin which might have makeup, steady blue eyes and many, many piercings. With at least four per ear, one eyebrow, one lip, one cheek and one soon to be on his navel - plus, I believe he intends to pierce in more - the guy isn't intimidated by heavy metal. I'm not sure if he wants tattoos, but I'm thankful for the minimal makeup he uses. I get freaked out when people visibly cake it on. I mean, he could be caking it on in that way that apparently means you add heaps to appear like there's none on, but his eyes aren't black pools of stuff.

    "Not without reason, may I add." I felt sulky.

    "Hey, it wasn't my idea, man. And we both could use the money from this. We won't have another opportunity for at least four weeks."

    "Really? I thought you were high in demand lately?" It's true; breaks from school and work were coming up and lots of people are letting loose with their personal effects or gifts to others. A groovy-looking laptop cover tailored to one's desired tastes trumps store-bought stuff.

    "Yeah, luckily, I just scheduled them so we have a chance to breathe, to get back into our own art." He trailed off a bit wistfully.

    "Well, that's kind of you, thanks. Almost done?"

    "No thanks are needed, and just a touch more... Finito." He gently turned me around from my job to admire our design, his art.

    While I was a bit embarrassed to have anything to do with this cafe's new propaganda, I can't help but appreciate the skill that went into it. It'll definitely attract curious customers, but what kind of people they are is a little difficult to predict.

    A life-sized woman with the fur of a tiger and more curves than a million hot sand dunes was beconing me to enter the cafe door with a wink and a sultry grin, wearing a bikini that still managed to reveal the very nipples it was attempting to hide. The cafe had an odd design, instead of a hard corner to the small intersection, it had a slim wall. This widened the footpath, and ensured that the tigress would be displayed for all the see, walking, driving or otherwise.

    I'm far from a fan of furries, but to make this from spay paint was very impressive.

    "As always, well done Jeff. I worry for the new business though." I grinned.

    "At least it'll have its two regulars. Let's go." Jeff is cooler with connecting with customers post-commission, and will surely force us to drink this place's coffee and eat it's muffins for a while. I argue that if done too soon, this kind of stuff can defeat the purpose of our job, but we always just slide gently into hanging with customers in such ways. I avoid admitting the overruling benefits of this, but I know Jeff knows my mind.

    We took our time walking to then end of the block where the car was. The blue of the night is quite relaxing, a natural depressant.

    "It's awesome that you could paint such a thing at night man, good work - ow! Jeff, what's the deal?" Jeff had turned the corner first, but froze, so I walked right into his back, my nose hitting his hard head. My hands holding my face slightly obscured my vision.

    "Where's the car?"

    "What?"

    "Where's the car?" He patiently repeated.

    "Isn't it right - " My general hand gesture to the car lots in front of us revealed no car. It should have been right in front of us.
    "Uh..."

    "If my Molly has been stolen, I will hurt someone."

    Jeff didn't at the time of naming actually mean the drug. But we couldn't change it because we'd already baptised the car by the time we realised. He's not a motorhead in any sense, so we try to shrug it off via overuse of the name.

    "... Should we call someone?"