perfection

He's a museum curator who is an extreme perfectionist.

No one's ever gotten close to him; how could they?

No one's as perfect as the portraits, the sculptures, the art that never changes.

Then one day, an intern is hired- a young, messy, disorganized intern, whose hair and desk are in a constant state of disarray.

The curator is going half-mad with this walking embodiment of chaos; so why can't the he stand the thought of the intern leaving at the end of their assistantship?