The Art Of Getting By.

I'm in art class, very one seems to have their projects but I prefer to doodle really so I decide to draw out my art teacher but in a comical form, so comic realism. But with his jaw broken and a fist punching him. With a few stray teeth flying about from the force of the impact.
When he came around to look at everyone's work he looked at me, not seeing my sketch yet.
"Gerard. The fuck are you doing?"
As you can see, Mr may isn't the most professional teacher.
"I'm drawing.."
"Are you sketching your subject you little shit?"
I look at him and his greyish tone, grey hair, greying eyes, greying skin even.
I nod. "Yes" and look at my work.
He leans over at my canvas to scope it too, before looking back at me.
"I don't have a subject Alan. "
"Why the heck not? "
"I don't know.." And I don't.
"Gerard, you're gonna have to start digging around in there." He puts his hands on my head and shakes it a little, for effect. "So you can develop that talent of yours. So you can start to use that brain of yours. To express that beautiful heart of yours boy. So figure out what you wanna say. And say it."
I like mr may. I smile at him and he kinda looks kindly at me but he doesn't smile much.
As he was about to turn away I call "Alan.."
"Yes?"
"I don't have anything to say."
"FIND SOMETHING." He shouts in his slightly psychotic tone.