Lawrence & Pablo in the Wild Wild West

They stumbled upon it mid-stroll—
A slope of grass, the famed knoll.
Some say it’s just a patch of green,
Others swear it’s a sniper scene.

Pablo flopped first, dramatic as hell,
Lawrence followed with a stretch and a smell.
“Feels shady,” he muttered, scanning the breeze,
“Perfect place to shoot… sardines.”

An open bottle, half-full, still fizzed,
Efes, sun-warmed, slightly missed.
They took a sniff, then had a sip,
Pablo burped loud with a satisfied lip.

“Let’s stay alert,” Lawrence said with a wink,
“There’s always a plot when the grass looks this pink.”
They lay back, bellies bold to the sky,
Watching gulls circle like rumors that fly.

If history whispered beneath their nap,
Neither twitched an ear nor mapped the trap.
Because pink cats don’t fret over secrets old—
They just drink warm beer and let fish tales unfold.

-

6" x 12"

Oils on stretched canvas

2026

In collaboration with oil artist Roonie