He’s perfectly polite, silently seedy, and yet altogether underwhelming. Gretchen thinks it’s the politeness that offends her the most. If he were more open with his seediness, she’d be more inclined to listen to his words and engage with him, but as it is, he’s one of those guys you just know is holding it all back. For an art tutor, she deems this to be unacceptable. It’s his job to get the best out of the students—to challenge them into challenging themselves—and yet he’s too meek and mild by far. Watching her for a moment longer, she senses his fingers twitching behind the curtains. He won’t come in—the cowardly custard he is—so she sucks on her cigarette as hard as she can, puckering her lips like she’s giving the best head ever. She’d never give this guy head, though, not even for enough money to see her through a months’ worth of booze. There’s something just so lame about him. Staring at the beady eyes watching her as if she can’t see, she sticks out her mouth and lets the smoke wash over her face like soapy water. The unseen tutor stands there for a moment longer and then moves away. Hearing his footsteps disappearing down the hall, she shakes her head and laughs.