Gemotions

The book signing felt like a public shaming. Each well-wisher, congratulating him on his "courageous story," felt like a jab. The man, whose name was Michael, plastered a smile on his face, a rictus of forced politeness. The line stretched around the block, a testament to the author’s prolific dishonesty.

He signed his name, with barely a pause, on the book. Inside, the writer, a man named Davies, described his life as a spy, a soldier, a romantic lead. In reality, he was a librarian. Michael’s gaze darted around the room. He felt the blood begin to pound in his ears.

He finally escaped the event, needing air. He walked a few blocks, until he found himself at a nearby bar. He ordered a strong drink.