Spence:How are you?
Corey:Me? I’m fine.
Spence:In my experience, when someone says they’re fine, they’re generally not. I have a great shoulder.
Corey:Sorry, what?
Spence:For crying on.
Corey:I should have got that.
Spence:You’ve only just woken up, so I’ll forgive you.
Corey:How very generous of you.
I chuckle. The snark is something I haven’t seen from him during our limited interactions, but I like it.
Spence:You’ve got some spare time right now?
Corey:Yeah, but probably not much longer. Why?
Spence:I need a new painting for my wall. I wondered if you could help.
I take a photo of my bare living room wall and send it to him.
Corey:I’m not an interior designer.
Spence:No, but you know more about art than anyone I know. You might be able to recommend a painting I could get a print of. Who knows? Maybe you sell your own artwork.
Corey:I don’t.
Spence:Why not?
Corey:I’ve never thought about selling anything I’ve done.
Spence:That’s a shame.
Corey:You don’t know if I’m any good or not.
Spence:Fine art degree, plus art teacher. I know.
Corey:You remembered…
Spence:Of course.
Corey:It was a hook-up… We didn’t even exchange numbers.
Spence:I have your number now.
Corey:LOL! True.
Corey:Your walls are beige?
Spence:I’m afraid so.
Corey:Do you have any kind of colour scheme?
I take a few more photos and send them to him. My sofa is blue, my armchair is orange, and my rug is various shades of beige, grey, and teal flung together in a modernist pattern. I’ve got a dresser made from distressed, whitewashed wood, with a flat-screen TV on top. My curtains, which cover a patio window and door, are as beige as my walls.
