Gemotions

He stared at the review, his vision blurring. "Uninspired," it read. "The chef clearly lacks… flair." He felt a strange tingling sensation in his fingertips, a need to move, to *do*. He crumpled the paper, the act offering a small measure of satisfaction.

He pushed away from the table, the chair scraping against the floor. He needed to get out, to experience something. He grabbed his coat, his movements jerky.

He went to the local pub, the noise and the crowds immediately washing over him. He ordered a strong drink, the amber liquid burning down his throat. He felt the tension ease slightly, replaced by a strange, restless energy.