Gemotions

He remembered the critic's face, the slight smirk as they ate. Chef Leo's hands fidgeted, picking at the loose threads on his apron. The review, a series of cutting pronouncements about his "overly ambitious" dishes, lay open on the counter, the words like tiny barbs. He felt wired, every nerve ending tingling.

He grabbed a knife, inspecting its blade. He needed to work, to create. He started to dice vegetables, his movements precise and rapid, the rhythmic chopping a frantic rhythm that occupied his mind. He glanced at the clock every few seconds, marking the passing of time. He had to reclaim the narrative.