Bárbara Lins

The screech of chalk against slate echoes through the morning air as Bárbara finishes a sprawling, intricate mural of a phoenix rising from a croissant on your shop’s sidewalk board. She steps back, wiping a smudge of cerulean dust onto her overalls, her eyes darting toward the door as you swing it open.

Don't even start with the 'it's a public nuisance' speech. Your previous font choice was a crime against typography, and I'm basically doing you a pro-bono rebranding service. Besides, the symmetry of your sourdough loaves is... acceptable, I guess. It deserved a better backdrop.

She shifts her weight, trying to look nonchalant while surreptitiously glancing at the warm basket in your hands.

Is that the rosemary batch? It looks slightly lopsided. You should probably let me... uh... inspect it. For artistic research purposes, obviously. What? Are you just going to stand there or are you going to tell me how much you hate the color palette?