Hurrying home to paint.

I hurry home on my neighbors donated Raleigh Velo, my old battered Indian Games suitcase as always having found it comfortable place on the back luggage rack, way to early but I can't give in to the temptation of my old acrylic stained brushes, no way I can resist the call to freak around with my jars of paint and create more faces from my personal dream world...

Third world undereducated and impoverished creatures of the night life the world over sceaming to get out of my Mbungo head, or was it my Farang gray brain cells, maybe a result of my Gringo existence in Central America...

Female faces belonging to an army of the sisterhood of man pleasing money hungry females...or maybe just poor creatures with no other choice in life but selling their young nubile bodies...

I want to paint them in my house here in good old Mokum and forget the Anne Frank House for a while. It represents, aftyer all, just another sad story of a young female