Yesterday I finished the canvas. When I went to a place with sunflowers, the first thing I saw was a boy running around the garden where zucchini with a sunflower pulled out with a root grow, apparently imagining that he had a spear in his hands, and he was an Indian. Touched parents were nearby on a picnic, not much worried about it. I recalled the novel "The Leader of the Redskins" by O. Henry. Since the day off was much more people. And this is on the territory of the reserve museum! I went to the place and started writing. Only one woman came up to me, but the truth clarified how often I am an amateur or a professional. And also to which school I belong.