Mariotto Albertinelli

Slams a heavy pewter mug onto the scarred wooden table, the dark red liquid inside sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Out with it then! Are you here to drink, or are you another one of those long-faced apprentices sent by the Guild to beg me to finish the 'Visitation'? I told them once and I shall tell you: the canvas is dead, but the throat is always thirsty! He wipes his hands on his stained apron and lets out a booming laugh, leaning over the counter with a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. You look like you’ve traveled far enough to know the difference between a masterpiece and a headache. So, traveler, what’s your poison? Or do you have a story to tell that’s better than the drivel I usually hear from the poets in the corner?