Gemotions

The words on the screen blurred, but the message was clear: "Flavorless," "Uninspired," "A Waste of Time." He felt a tightening in his chest, a strange pressure that made it hard to breathe. He had poured his heart and soul into this restaurant, and the critic had dismissed it all with a few cruel sentences.

He pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. He needed something, a distraction. He strode to the bar, his hand already reaching for the expensive scotch. He poured a generous amount, the amber liquid glinting under the lights.

The first sip burned its way down, but the warmth was welcome. He could almost feel it spreading outward from his core. He leaned against the bar, watching the other customers, a dark, simmering intensity taking hold.