I couldn’t concentrate on the book in my lap. He was so beautiful; youthful when messing around with his friends, but as soon as he got a can of spray paint in his hands, the child in him disappeared, and he turned into this amazing artist. I fantasised about talking to him, touching him. I wanted to have him right there in the open, with wet paint on the walls behind us. Who was I kidding, though? Guys like him never went for geeky guys like me. I kept reading my book, gazing wistfully at him every now and then.