She was Vitelli's long dead mother.Approach me, my son!Vitelli felt himself dragged forward, his feet sliding on the thin carpet. Neither his feet nor...his legs could function except to hold him upright in a paralyzed stance. He slid forward until he would touch her face, if he could only lift his arm and extend his fingers.Oh, God! Her face!He saw two faces on that grotesque head: the face of his dead mother, and the contorted face of her forbidden love, the young priest she had lustfully. Looking at the black and white picture, all I could see was just the outline of a dragon, and nothing more. I must have stared at that image for a good hour, waiting for some kind of inspiration to pop into my head."Keith, you've been looking at that thing for over an hour," my uncle finally burst into my forced daydream. "That thing's not going to render itself. Is there a problem?" No, Sir ... well ... maybe. I'm trying to figure out in my head what a creature like that should look like in. There was no dancing, nor laughter, as such was not the nature of those who sought, in alcoholic oblivion, escape from the weary burden of existance.One patron, however, did not blend in with the faded décor.Seated alone, in a booth at the rear, was a large, well dressed, middle-aged man. He alternated between watching the entrance, and taking an occasional sip of the poor-quality sherry, sitting on the scarred table before him. His eyes constantly scanned the crowded room, ever alert. ”“Of course. You need something to wear while modeling,” he said. “If I buy this for you, it'll be your payment. And then we'll head down to my studio. It's not far away. You'll be so sexy.”“But my husband...”“He'll want to see the sexy photos.”“Really?” I asked in awe. “Do you know my husband?”“Yes, I do. And he wants me to photograph you.”“Okay! Let's buy this and go.”His eyebrows furrowed and he muttered something that may have been, “How stupid is she?” But I wasn't sure that's what he.