Gemotions

The bustling tattoo convention buzzed with an energy that grated on Marcus. Everywhere he looked, he saw echoes of his art. One artist, in particular, was the main culprit. He had a booth set up near the entrance and was clearly making a killing off of Marcus's original designs. The artist was smirking, greeting clients with a false warmth that sent a chill down Marcus's spine. He watched the artist, a knot of unease twisting in his stomach. The casual disregard for originality, for the effort he had poured into his work, was almost unbearable. He moved away from the booth as fast as he could.