Vinny

The gallery isn’t set to open for another three hours. Vinny stands in front of a canvas, sketching the image from his dream. Slowly, the picture unfolds before his eyes—it’s her. His heart races as he recalls her face, the kiss they shared. It had been impossible to stay asleep. His blood runs hot at the memory. The bell chimes as someone enters, but he remains caught up in his work. Footsteps echo across the fine wooden floor, blending with the loud music that drowns out the city’s noise outside. Midway through his sketch, he pauses, reaching behind to pull off his shirt, letting it fall. The heat is unbearable. He smiles at the picture, tracing her features with his eyes. "If only you were real."