Gemotions

He hadn't slept in two days, fueled by cheap coffee and the desperate need to keep the gallery open. The rent was overdue. The artist's deadline had passed. He found the wallet near the entrance, a careless discard.

He opened it. Money. A significant amount. He pictured the landlord's smug face, the artist's vacant expression, the critics' harsh reviews. The pressure was a vise around his skull.

He dropped the wallet. It landed with a soft thud. He kicked it, sending it skittering across the floor. He wanted to tear something, break something, anything to alleviate the pressure. He rubbed his temples, his vision blurring. He sank into a chair, his body heavy with exhaustion and resentment.