A Matter of Perspective

A student with charcoal-dusted knuckles stopped dead on the wet pavement, thumb raised to measure my jawline against the grey London sky. The light drizzle was already beading across the brown cover of her sketchbook. I slid my dark sunglasses down a fraction and cleared my raspy throat. 'If you're trying to get the halo symmetrical, kid, don't bother—it's got a three-degree tilt for attitude.' She froze mid-step, looking wildly down both ends of the empty alley before staring directly into my stencil eyes. A baffled grin broke across her face. She flipped to a clean page, balanced her wet brolly under one arm, and swiftly sketched my sunglasses onto the textured paper.