Paint. The art of scam. by Oscar Turner

away.’ said Tracy, pulling out a pack
of tobacco.
    ‘No, not at all.
It's good to see you again. So what have you been up to?’
    Tracy nudged at
her bags with her foot as she rolled her cigarette and licked at the paper.
    ‘Just a spot of
shopping, supermarket throwaways.’
    Polly looked
puzzled for a moment then remembered what Seymour had told her about Tracy's ‘freegan’
philosophy and looked at her bags.
    ‘That's amazing.’
said Polly. ‘You mean they actually throw away all that stuff.’
    Tracy lit her
neat thin roll-up and took a satisfying drag, exhaling a fine thin jet of smoke
skywards. ‘Yup. Bloody stupid isn't it. Still, suits me.’
    Polly looked at
Tracy. She admired the simplistic aura that radiated from her, her proud
uncorrupted composure.
    ‘So, are you two
shacked up together then?’
    ‘Yes. Yes we are
shacked up together.’
    Tracy cast a
sideways glance. ‘Fuck me. Well done. What a catch.’
    Polly wasn't sure
if Tracy was being sarcastic but let it go.
    ‘Seymour told me
you even make wine from the stuff you get.’ said Polly, feeling the need to
change the subject.
    ‘I don't know if
I'd call it wine, but it does the trick. So what's Seymour up to then? Still
painting is he?’
    ‘Oh yes, he's
been doing some beautiful stuff lately.’
    ‘Talented boy old
Seymour, shame he's such a knob head.’
    Polly looked at
her: taken aback. Seymour had always spoken highly of Tracy: she assumed their
feelings about each other were mutual.
    ‘You know what I
mean.’ said Tracy, ‘I love the bloke to bits, but fuck me, can't tell his ass
from his elbow when it comes down to it. It's like all talented people I
s'pose. Fucking artists. Life's just one big argument.’
    Polly thought
about Tracy's words and although she was initially affronted by them: she was
right.
    They both looked
out to sea for a few moments in a peaceful silence.
    ‘How about you
Tracy, are you still doing your Tarot readings?’
    ‘Yup.’ said Tracy
taking another drag of her roll-up.
    ‘Seymour told me
about the reading you did for him, it really affected him.’
    ‘Oh yeh, I
remember it well, it was a good one. So he's on good form is he?’
    ‘Yes. Yes he is.’
    ‘Good.’ Tracy
leant forward, stubbed out her roll-up on the pavement and put it back in her
tobacco pouch ‘Well, better be off then. Nice seeing you Polly and give Seymour
a hug from me won't you.’
    Tracy stood and
hoisted the bags up, their contents threatening to burst them.
    ‘Tracy?’
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘Um...Will you
give me a reading?’ said Polly, slightly embarrassed.
    Tracy looked down
at Polly and studied her for a moment. ‘You?’
    Polly nodded.
    ‘Ok.’ said Tracy.
‘Here grab one of these bags, me bus is just up here a bit.’
    ‘You’ve got a bus
now? That's great! Seymour told me you always wanted to get a bus. He'll be so
pleased.’
    ‘Yeah well you're
bloody lucky to catch me, I'm buggering off to Spain in a few days, come on you
silly cow.’
    Polly leapt to
her feet and joined Tracy, clumsily picking up one of her heavy lumpy bags.
    ‘Spain? You going
to see your family? Seymour said you were Spanish.’
    ‘Nah, we've all
lost touch over the years since me mum died, never really knew them anyway.’
    ‘And your Father?’
    ‘Could be
anyone...Mum was a party animal see, real character, brought me up single
handed, bless her.’
    I was born here
see, the only connection I got with Spain is a fat ass. I just want to get away
from this hole Polly. Need some sun, sex and cigarettes.’
    ‘Oh.’ said Polly,
struggling with the bag to keep up with her.
     
     
    ‘Well, here it is.’ said Tracy as they approached the dilapidated
old bus and dropped her bag. It was larger than Polly had expected and had
clearly seen better days. Tracy went around to the windscreen, ripped of a parking
ticket taped to the glass and dropped it in a close-by litterbin.
    ‘Do you have to pay that?’ said Polly innocently.
    Tracy