Ceramics /// DNF

1

Chalks of ceramics ruined the floor, stone and metal brittle sharpened into the wood. Old indents were crudely covered up by rugs or clothes. The air was polluted with powder from his chisel; he chipped away so that the women could smile. A stoic expression was returned, one filled with focus. Another chip fell to the floor with a tap and George looked down at his chipped hardwoods. He cursed under his breath.

Sitting back on his stool he threw an accusatory stare at a white and grey striped cat. "You promised to help me remember to keep a sheet down." The cat, whose name was, (creatively), Cat, only blinked at him.

He looked down to the cloudy floor and tried to pretend he didn't like the mess. Tried to pretend it didn't set off a thousand different creative ideas in his head. He slid the tooth chisel into his brown apron and moved for his Polaroid camera. He stepped a bit further so his shadow was not seen and squinted through the view-finder. Taking in the too bright light.

Lips tugging downward he moved to inch the curtains to near close, and when he looked through again, the scene was perfect. The sculpture standing proud, nearly perfected to living, tools scattered on his wooden desk. Scratched floors dusted grey with the womens' soul. He took two pictures, one for himself and one for his customers. He twisted his body so he could pull the curtains back again and closed his eyes at the golden beams that poured over him. Fluttering his eyes back open, he watched for a moment as the sun set in between rows of houses and apartment buildings. He turned away and begun untying his apron, gently lifting the leather off of himself and hanging it on a hook. He rotated his head and breathed deeply once, exhaling hesitance. After pulling a white folded sheet from a cabinet, he covered the sculpture. He couldn't be bothered to clean up the mess, knowing he would be back the next morning to continue.

After making sure Cat had food and water, he locked up his studio for the night and began heading home. He savored the last moments of dusk and wilted at the memory of his house he would return to. Hoping to delay his return, he stepped into a familiar café, the warmth seeping into him as well as envy. On a quite Sunday night there were only a few people lounging in the chairs. Students studying and exhausted collage kids getting coffee before an all nighter. He smiled politely at an old couple who were making each other's beverages. George sat down on a bar stool and removed his coat again, pushing down his brown sweater and making himself comfortable.

He smiled as a familiar face excitedly appeared from the back.

"I saw you from the kitchen, I'll be with you in just a second." Karl disappeared as fast as he had appeared and George smiled to himself and pulled out his phone.

Before Karl emerged again a slightly shorter male came around the bar with a few dirty mugs, and he sat the tray down and leaned against the counter, arrogance apparent. "I think it's safe to say that our coffee shop is your favorite, you were here this morning too." George scoffed loudly and put his phone face down.

"I'm here out of pity for you, not because this shop is my favorite." The door swung open and Karl came out with a mug of coffee and a slice of cool cheese cake, smiling warmly and tucking himself into Sapnap's side. George picked up the fork from the plate and shrugged a little. "Maybe for Karl's cheese cake though." Karl beamed at that.

"You're lucky, that's the last piece of the day." Sapnap's arm tugged gently against his waist, pulling him closer against him, then whispering something against his ear. Karl laughed gently and leaned against his partner, sighing contently. George pretended to gag on his cake. Sapnap rolled his eyes and let Karl go to reach behind him, George pretended to not envy the way they couldn't bear to be apart for long.

Sapnap turned, offering him a small piece of paper, "A lady was here this morning and loved all the artwork on our walls, specially your oils paints. She wrote down her name and number so that you could contact her about doing a commission for her, maybe even a few." George took the folded parchment and folded it tighter so it could fit into his pocket and glanced at the acrylic, water color and oil paintings of his own creation that adorned the walls. The idea and hope that it added to the warmth of the café made George smile.