Gemotions

The library was quiet, filled with the hushed rustle of turning pages and the gentle ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner. He sat at a wooden table, the surface worn smooth by years of use. A well-worn copy of his art book lay open before him. The phone call had come a month ago: a student, had tattooed his art across her back. He had been invited here, to this quiet haven, to meet her. He closed his eyes, and thought. Time was not the issue. He was comfortable, and prepared to wait.