Therapeutic Creativity

I’ve had way more Scotch than is good for me, but my mind is racing and the peaceful oblivion of a good drunk isn’t going to work for me tonight. No chance of having it out with Karl either; he said he won’t be back from his errand until tomorrow night. I peer blearily at my watch . . . make that tonight. So I’ve ended up here, where it all started, hoping that I can somehow create something better out of this disaster. I stand inside the darkened bookstore staring blankly and then start to wander around, my fingers lightly running over the spines of thousands of books.

( A new window display . . .  )

Unintended Consequences

Later that that day.

The window is a hit and every customer who comes in the door that morning comments on it and actually, we’re having a lot more traffic than we normally do on a Friday morning. I exchange a pleased look with Staci, she was a huge help with her paints. I’m really dragging by noon though, and I can’t quite disguise my groan when she comes out from the back and says that Troy has called in sick.

( What a weird tattoo . . .  )