Gemotions

He slammed the phone down on the counter, the receiver rattling against the cheap laminate. "Unbelievable," Mark muttered, pacing the cramped kitchen. The dispatcher had been utterly unhelpful, a cheerful drone who seemed more interested in policy than his predicament. He felt a throbbing pulse in his temples.

He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. He was late for work, a crucial meeting hanging in the balance, and now this. The absurdity of it all felt like a physical weight, pressing down on him. His breath hitched as he pictured the sleek lines of his Porsche, sitting helpless and vulnerable in the impound lot.

Mark snatched his keys, the metal digging into his palm. He needed to get there, to rectify this, to salvage the wreckage of his day. Each step felt heavy, each breath a struggle against the rising tide of… something.