The choral rehearsal went well. Paulo left the cathedral. He had been pleased with his performance. He loved
it. He felt being approached by Leonardo to pose as the Messiah himself was a well-deserved honour. Who else
could befit the role. He strolled out of the cathedral. Still engrossed with the thought of the Duke of Milan's
recommendation that he would be ideal to portray the innocence of the Messiah. His journey was interrupted
by the approach of a vagrant. Paulo could not hide his disgust for this wretched creature. How dare someone
of such low standing even dare speak to him. Drunk and filthy, Claudius was desparate for his next meal. He
had not bothered to eat for days. Now, the hunger pangs was gnawing at him. He hoped that Paulo would take
pity on him. But Paulo could not have cared less. Why should he? Why should he pity someone less fortunate
than himself? Why should a drunken beggar on the via be his concern? Claudius grabbed at Paulo's robe,
tearing it. Paulo was furious and and proceeded to kick him. He was angry. The Duke of Milan had given him
that robe. How could someone live that way? Always drunk, always begging living on the streets.
No comments:
Post a Comment