holds my present. It looks tiny in his large, veiny hands. “It’s not…it’s in a different league to these.” I motion at my pile of gifts. “Well, I’m excited.” He unwraps it neatly, turning over the small, orange sketchbook. There are fifty pages of premium drawing paper inside, and I’ve written a prompt on each one. Every page is different. Draw something you love. Draw a Georgian window. Design a banquet hall. Design a church spire. Draw something at Sorrowsong.
