Maybe “paint a hyper-realistic portrait of my dog” wasn’t on Bryce’s list, but it was on mine.
Olivia had not only understood, she’d encouraged me. She’d spent the evenings with me, alternating between knitting a sweater for her mom and encouraging Einstein to sit still so I could capture his every detail.
Silly dog jumped in surprise every time he farted.
Most misnamed critter in history.
For five days I searched clip art sites all day long, gathering seeds for the overpaid, unimaginative “graphic artists” I interned for, then I spent long hours of the evening trying to reincarnate Einstein in two dimensions.
That last night, Olivia looked over my shoulder and said, “That’s him.”
I captured Einstein sitting at the end of the forbidden couch, his chin resting on the armrest. His ears
