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Who is this sassy lost child
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Cristo let out a soft sigh, almost a mirror of Nadia's, as she spoke. He knew all of this, how people didn't like being watched and how staring at girls would get you in trouble. He wasn't completely out of touch with reality or the way that people worked. Nadia was preaching to the choir, but the choir wasn't going to talk back in this case.

He wasn't sure what he felt now. His sense of contentment had vanished, leaving discomfort and the faintest curl of irritation in its wake. He didn't want or need Nadia lecturing him like this, didn't think that just looking at her in the middle of a public space merited such a response at all.

But he wouldn't say that.

Instead, Cristo plucked another blade of grass and twirled the cord of his headphones some more and kept looking anywhere but Nadia's face. "Yeah," he murmured. "Sorry."

Silence stretched between them again.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

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I could live in the world just like a stranger · Liberty Park