Gemotions

The exhibition posters, splashed across every bus stop, were a vivid, unwelcome reminder. My work. My name. On display. Without so much as a phone call. I considered calling a lawyer, but the prospect of even dialing the number felt like climbing a mountain.

My current position: sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a half-eaten bag of chips resting precariously on my chest. Even the thought of opening a new bag felt like a monumental effort.

My dealer was probably frantic. I could practically hear him, his voice buzzing with barely contained fury. I was the reason he was getting the phone calls. But dealing with all of it?

Later.