The Trip

(Marco)

The place was small for an artist studio, or at least that's what I thought. It was a flat space with no dynamic and nothing to stimulate the eye other than bare brick walls splattered with bright paints. If I looked hard enough, I could see dry clay sticking perilously to the wooden beams that ran overhead on the ceiling.

What a weird place.

"Oh my, what a beautiful ensemble of men!" A deep voice seemed to squeal enthusiastically. It was followed by a stomping of feet and tall body appearing from nowhere to greet us. The man wiped stained hands on a towel at his hip and smiled at us. "Bonjour, je suis Jean-Louis. Welcome to my studio."

I didn't really want to shake his hand, but I did it anyway to avoid being rude. Contrary to my paranoia, the green paint on his palm didn't come off on my own. "Bonjour. My name is Marco and these are my companions," I motioned to the men standing behind me silently. "I came here in search of information you might have."