Gemotions

The meticulously planned seating chart seemed like a personal insult. James stared at his name card. He was situated at the table farthest from the dance floor, and the conversation was as riveting as watching paint dry.

He leaned back in his chair, fiddling with the satin napkin. He felt a profound sense of restlessness, an itch he couldn't scratch. The minutes were crawling by.

He excused himself from the table, claiming a need for air. Walking through the crowded ballroom, he bumped into someone. He looked up, and his face turned to stone. It was Emily, his ex. She was smiling, holding a glass of wine.