Gemotions

Michael ran his hand through his already disheveled hair, the repetitive motion doing nothing to ease his agitation. He'd finished the crossword puzzle on his phone an hour ago. Now, he was tracing the outline of the elevator buttons with his index finger. Each press brought no results. He felt like his brain had turned to sludge.

He shot a look at Sarah, who was staring fixedly at the emergency phone. Her posture conveyed a tension he could relate to. She seemed as antsy as a caged tiger.

He started to tap his foot, a rapid, almost frantic rhythm against the metal floor. The beat was a low, insistent drumming. He found himself cataloging every item in her purse, a pointless exercise in observation and scrutiny. His gaze kept returning to the emergency phone. He should probably try that again.