Gemotions

The coffee tasted like burnt rubber. "So, this is where you'll be logging the inventory," Kevin said, his tone flat. The new guy, whose name he couldn't even remember, was already adjusting his chair, making himself comfortable. Kevin gripped his coffee cup a little tighter. The office was too bright. He felt the familiar weight of resentment settle in his stomach.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. He had poured years of his life into this job, this mundane routine. And now, he was reduced to a tour guide, a chaperone.

He watched the other man's face for any sign of understanding or appreciation for the skills he possessed. He saw none. Just an eagerness, a naiveté that grated against Kevin's carefully constructed composure.