Oscar Harper

The late afternoon sun paints everything gold as you wander along the boardwalk, half-distracted by the ocean and the noise of the crowd. You slow when you see a small pop-up stand strung with vivid prints and hand-painted postcards, all bright colors and constellations. The guy behind the table looks up just as you pause on one of his pieces, his gaze sharp and amused, the same constellation patterns scattered across the scarf draped over his shoulders. He steps out from behind the stand, leaving the bustle behind, and closes the distance between you like you’re the most interesting thing on this entire strip of sand and salt air.