The Painters Pit
Not sure exactly where Vincent went off the rails.
Perhaps too many Absinthe cocktails with extra wormwood.
Maybe his sixth house of enemies and disease with too many malefic planets living there.
The unfortunate display of love to Rachel at the brothel.
But I digress.
He is a painter's painter, our patron saint after all.
Following dinner and a drink or three we climbed into the Painters Pit.
Two gladiators ready for battle.
This is a man's game.
Smiling pastel faces please take your seat outside.
It is after all a starry night.
Front row seats reserved for Guardians of the Secret.
It's a hell of a fight.
Brush and Paint colliding in mid stroke, a torn canvas is the first casualty.
Vinnnie locks horns with a bottle of wine.
Unintentionally or intentional he takes a swig of paint thinner.
The lord's name taken in vain, bellowing now from his blue lips.
A loud knock on the front door announces the arrival of Gauguin.
The merry go round of toasts begins.
The Yellow House has never been on firmer ground.
It lives to breathe another day.