Gemotions

He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The hammering, relentless and rhythmic, seemed to bore its way into his skull. He’d tried to concentrate on his taxes, but each blow of the hammer was a personal insult, a direct challenge to his peace.

He flung the papers aside, the red pen skittering across the desk. He needed air. He stormed outside, intending to ask, no, *tell* the construction crew to take a break.

The scent of sawdust and fresh-cut wood hit him like a physical blow. He stood, chest heaving, watching the workmen laugh and chat, oblivious to his simmering irritation. He opened his mouth, but no words came.