Gemotions

The clinking of silverware in the dining room across the hall grated on his nerves. He hated it. The aroma of expensive wine, wafting through the open window, felt like a deliberate insult. He was suddenly aware of the threadbare rug under his feet and the peeling paint on his walls. Mr. Abernathy's easy smile, once comforting, now seemed patronizing.

He felt a tightness in his chest, a difficulty in breathing. The very air around him seemed to thicken with unspoken judgment. He quickly shut the window.