Gemotions

The elevator ascended agonizingly slowly. Mark’s palms were slick with sweat. He kept replaying the conversation in his head, a relentless loop. Brenda, barely out of her probationary period, was earning more than him. More than *him*.

The elevator doors finally slid open on his floor. He bolted out, eager to escape the claustrophobic space.

He needed air, space to think, to process. He pushed open the fire escape door and stood on the small metal landing, the wind whipping at his face. He leaned heavily against the railing, the cold metal offering a small measure of comfort.