Tash Broom

Little Black Book

Black manicured nails click against the white marble, the grey curling like smoke through the stone. Handcrafted bookshelves line the walls, resin coating the natural wood. The light from the golden chandelier bounces off the gloss, almost in mockery of the man that sits beneath it. He’s too thin, dressed in an old grey suit that hangs from him like a child playing dress up. Wrinkles cut through the white shirt and the third button down is missing entirely.