Gemotions

The air in the art gallery was thick with pretension, the perfect canvas for his amusement. He watched, with detached interest, as David, his supposed "art curator" friend, held court. David’s voice was low, filled with carefully chosen jargon as he described the "subtle nuances" of a particularly garish painting.

He casually adjusted his tie, the silk cool against his skin. He remembered the day he'd caught David, covered in paint, cleaning the toilets at a public museum. He kept that one close to him.

He felt the corners of his mouth lift slightly, though he did his best to hide it.