The walls were thin, to the point that they seemed to suck in and then relax when the door was opened and then closed behind her. The small room was fairly dark, lit by a window directly opposite, so that everything in the room appeared in shadow to her. A yellowing plant, long forgotten, sat dryly at one end of the windowsill.
The man was tall, athletic, probably in his early 50’s, though it was hard to tell. He was clean shaven with a full head of wavy brown hair. He smiled, muttered something about being with her in a minute, and then pivoted back to his computer screen. She unwound her scarf and shrugged off her winter coat. The room didn’t seem to have heating, but the pictures on the walls and the items on the shelves were somehow warming. Right ahead, a picture of something abstract but probably organic, in oranges and browns and reds. Then, just behind the man, a bowl, almost, but not quite spherical in green and grey. Scraps of curling, yellowing paper pinned to the wall around his desk, scribbled and sketched, the odd flash of purple paint, sepia, gold.
“Well, thank you so much for coming,” he said, smiling at her again “I’m really sorry about this, I’m just not sure what to do with her.”
“That’s okay.” She replied, settling down with a notebook and a pen. “Tell me the story.”
He kicked back in his office chair, clasped his hands behind his head, elbows out to the sides. “Well. Where to start? Yes. It all began last summer….”