Gemotions

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, a mocking dance of on-again, off-again. He folded his arms, the action a deliberate attempt to put distance between himself and the bubbly woman across from him. Three hours. Three hours with *her*. She’d already launched into a story about her cat, a fluffy monstrosity named Princess Fluffernutter. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck taut. It was going to be a long afternoon.

"So," she chirped, oblivious to his silence, "what do you do when you get stuck in a situation like this?" He looked away, focusing on the scuff marks on the elevator floor. He’d probably spend the rest of the day looking at those marks.

The air conditioning wheezed, doing little to combat the growing stuffiness. His chest felt constricted, as though something heavy had settled there. He imagined all the emails piling up in his inbox, the reports left unread, the projects stalled because *he* wasn’t there.

He sighed heavily, the sound meant to convey weariness, but probably sounding more like a grunt. He knew this would happen. He knew it. This was the universe’s way of ensuring he was perpetually delayed.