Roberto slipped on his reading glasses for the finishing touches, feathering red paint around the underside of the model's breast. It had been a long three hours and as much as he enjoyed the art, he was glad to be done soon. The model fidgeted, tired from standing in his studio for so long, naked no less.
"Hold still," he said.
"Are you done? This paint itches."
"That'll go away."
He stood a few feet back and admired his work.
"All done," he said.
She stepped down from the pedestal, a phoenix off her perch. In two days, she would be gyrating and flitting around on a float, dancing into a sweaty frenzy. Music will sound, saturating the street in rhythmic nirvana. Carnaval is here.
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