Gemotions

Chef Marcus stood motionless, the review clutched tightly in his fist. His normally cheerful face was a mask of granite. The critic had ripped apart his signature dish, the one he had spent months perfecting. He walked into the walk-in refrigerator, its cold air a stark contrast to the heat building inside him. He grabbed a box of tomatoes, held it for a moment, then, with a single, brutal motion, slammed the box against the wall, splattering red pulp across the cool, white tiles. He stared at the mess and then closed the door behind him.