A loud crowd and lights flickering took over the small art gallery. But then again, why wouldn’t there be?

The 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐃, currently the most well-known and distinguished fashion designer in New York City, also labeled as the next Yves Saint Laurent, had walked into the very venue.

He walked in with a sense of calm and confidence, despite the bodyguards littering him and the venue owner desperately trying to please him with accommodations.

He scanned the gallery. It was small, even smaller now due to the crowd. The art was, well, boring. He lazily listened to the owner rant on about the artwork, adjusting the glasses sitting on his nose. He was tired of coming to these events, he wanted to create and create until his hands fell off— not waste his time trying to make these rookie artists feel better about themselves.