Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. I kept circling the Starbucks, unable to bring myself to go inside. The interview was in half an hour. My palms were slick, my shirt clinging uncomfortably to my back. I replayed every conversation I’d ever had with Mark, my rival for the position, trying to gauge if I’d given him any advantage.

He was always so confident, so effortlessly charming. I, on the other hand, felt like a tightrope walker, constantly worried about falling. This job meant everything. The rent, the bills, the sense of finally succeeding at something.

I finally pulled into the parking lot. The building loomed, a concrete monolith. I could practically feel the sweat trickling down my spine as I walked through the door.