Gemotions

He leaned against the cold metal of the bakery counter, the familiar scent of yeast and cinnamon usually a comfort. Today, however, it seemed to amplify the internal pressure building inside him. "The Golden Cloud," they were calling it - his mother’s prized cinnamon roll recipe. And now, on every billboard, the new chain, "Sweet Surrender," boasted its success. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He had to say something.

He pictured the smug smile of the CEO, a man who, he suspected, wouldn't know a good cinnamon roll from a stale bagel. The injustice was like a physical blow. He shifted his weight, suddenly feeling too confined by his own body. He wanted to shout, to tear down the billboards, to make them understand. His eyes darted around, looking for an outlet.

He pushed off the counter, nearly knocking over a display of muffins. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of heat through him.