Gemotions

"Anything new, honey?" Mark's wife had asked him. He’d shrugged, the same weary gesture he'd been using for weeks. He felt like his life was in a holding pattern. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture meant to be thoughtful, but really it was just another automatic response. He sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at his half-eaten cereal.

The incessant banging from Mrs. Davis's house began. It was a rhythmic assault on the quiet of the morning. It was a feeling of restlessness, a kind of internal fizzing, began to build within him. He stood up. He felt the need to get out, to be somewhere else, doing something, anything other than this. He walked out the door.