A slump of a man is in the waiting area. Hunched over the chrome and black chair, his scuffed trainers rest on the marble. Baggy denim hangs from his knees, eyes darting through the shaggy fall of hair.
Jacob stands separate, watching his brother’s discomfort. Sealed in a suit, the polish of his shoes matching the gleam of the floor. The doorman will arrive soon, and he will have to claim this heap for his own. Poking out of one side of his hair is the stretched skin of his earlobe, mutated out by a thick wooden ring.
The bronze statues watch Jacob from their glass cases, tiny printed cards explaining their importance. Waiting for him to take this intruder away.
He simply sits, hands resting together, watching the door he must be expecting Jacob to walk out from. Around him, everyone is animated with a task. Fingers swiping at digital screens, jabbing in the air to punctuate the importance of their arguments. Serious magazines are being read, heads filled with important facts.
The impetus to run is absorbed by the severe floor. Speed is impossible inside these glass walls. Skimming a finger around his collar, Jacob walks towards the inevitable, unnerved by the reflection of himself in the face that looks up at him expectantly.
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