ПЛЕЗЗЗЗЗЗЗЗЗЗЗЗЗЗ РЕШЕНИЕ
Things weren't working out quite as Lazlo had expected. He'd been in London for six months now and all his early optimism had almost disappeared. None of the galleries were interested in his paintings and he was tired of carrying the same pictures from one buyer to the next. The response was always the same: a shake of the head, some comment about portraits not being fashionable these days and a suggestion to try somewhere else, usually somewhere he had already tried. He was beginning to lose hope and was thinking of going back home. It would be difficult, and he would have to face his parents saying 'I told you so', but at least he could find a steady job.
He was sitting on a bench in a park one day considering this when he noticed a newspaper beside him. He glanced at it and the word 'artist' caught his eye. He picked the paper up and read more closely. It was a job advertisement. An advertising company was looking for a portrait artist to work on a new advertising campaign. Lazlo ripped the advertisement out of the paper and started to look for a public phone. 'I won't be able to choose my subjects', Lazlo thought to himself, 'but at least I'll be able to pay the rent, and that's a bit more important right now'. He spotted a phone, put a few coins in and dialled. After a few moments, a female voice answered. Lazlo explained who he was and that he was applying for the job. They arranged for him to go to their office the next day with some of his work. He went home excited and nervous.
That night, he chose three paintings from the dozens in his flat that he thought showed what he was capable of. He selected a self-portrait he had done a few years before: he thought it showed a thoughtful side to his work. He also chose a portrait of an old man that he had met in a cafe. It was simple but clear, and Lazlo thought that maybe that was the style they would want for an advertising campaign. The third one was a painting of his mother. It had always seemed to him that that picture captured a lot of feeling that was difficult to put into words. A lot of people thought it was the best portrait he had ever done, and Lazlo knew that if anything was going to impress them, that painting would.
The next morning, he woke early and got ready. He rolled the pictures up, placed them in a large tube so that they wouldn't get damaged and set off towards the bus stop. There was a lot of traffic, but he arrived on time. When he got to the office, he saw that another four people were waiting, each with a large tube of paintings just like his. The secretary asked him to take a seat.
Lazlo sat and waited for his name to be called. He knew that a lot depended on the next half an hour or so. With a job, he could begin to sort out his life, maybe doing his art in his spare time. He knew he would never completely give up on his dream, but he had also come to realise that he had to live in the real world, and talent doesn't pay bills. Without a job, he wouldn't survive the month, he had just about enough for the ticket home. The secretary picked up the phone and had a short, quiet conversation. She tuzned to Lazlo.
'You can go in now' she said, smiling.

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