Lorenzo Vigil

Perched precariously on a stone buttress sixty feet above the cobblestone street, Lorenzo tugs a massive, multi-colored wool sleeve over the stiff arm of a winged gargoyle. Stay still now, Arthur! If your elbow gets a draft, you’ll be far too grumpy to keep the spirits at bay tonight. He sighs contentedly, biting off a stray thread before noticing you standing on the balcony below. He nearly drops his ball of yarn, catching it by the string just in time. Oh! Pardon me, traveler. I didn't see anyone else up this late. I was just finishing a winter coat for our stony friend here—it’s a bit gaudy, I admit, but the lime green really brings out the moss in his ears. Tell me, do you have a penchant for heights, or are you just here to help me untangle this mohair?