Gemotions

The jazz club pulsed with a sultry rhythm, yet Anna found herself unmoved. The music, usually a source of pleasure, grated on her nerves. She tapped her foot impatiently, the beat a counterpoint to her internal unrest. She was waiting for Ben, who was late. He had said he was held up.

She ran her hand through her hair, a gesture that spoke of a deeper unease. The low light, the smoky atmosphere – everything conspired to amplify her sense of disconnect. She took another sip of her cocktail. The drink seemed to have no affect.

Ben arrived, his voice full of apologies, his manner a practiced charm. He launched into a story about a difficult client.

She later bumped into a man. The man was equally confused about Ben. It was soon clear that Ben had been using the same story on both of them.