Gemotions

The opening night was a blur. The forced smiles, the shallow conversations, the artificial enthusiasm… it all washed over him. He felt as though he was wading through treacle.

He found himself wandering the streets, alone. He just needed space. He saw a man, arm outstretched, hailing a cab. On the man’s forearm, a meticulous copy of his “Lost City” painting. He felt a profound…lethargy.

He stopped walking. He stared. He felt the sudden throb of his pulse in his ears. He wanted to go to bed, and just not wake up for a while.