Strange Presha

A click sound reverberated as the door was slowly closed.

David sat at his seat as he silently stared at the old man sitting opposite him. This old man had been eyeing him with a troubled expression since the moment he set foot in this room.

Their eyes met, yet not a single word was let out.

"Young man, your art has drifted from the right path." Finally, the old man spoke.

"The right path?" David softly smirked. This old man doesn't know what he was talking about. Originally, he thought that this old man would tell him to go wash on his daughter or granddaughter whichever one Presha is, yet he actually decided to evaluate his art instead.