Gemotions

The artist's studio felt warm, but not in a pleasant way. The smell of turpentine mingled with the aroma of old paint, creating a thick, cloying atmosphere. In his new position as a junior artist, it was Ben's first day and his role was to clean the studio. He felt leaden. His head drooped. He had been up late the night before, trying to finish his own project.

He slumped against a wall, trying to stay upright. The brushes scattered on the table looked like an abstract blur. He yawned, a wide, involuntary stretch. The light felt too bright. It felt like something was dragging his eyelids down.

He desperately wanted a coffee. Or even better, a bed.