Gemotions

He stared out the window, the city lights a blurry, indifferent expanse. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the tabletop. He felt… trapped. Suffocated. He reached for the book on the table, a dog-eared copy of “Don Quixote.”

He’d bought it at a yard sale, drawn in by the faded cover. He flipped through the pages, but the words swam before his eyes. He felt a profound sense of disconnect.

A brittle piece of paper drifted to the floor. It was a newspaper clipping, a small article about a lost dog. The name of the dog? The same as his own. He wanted to shout, to tear the paper to shreds, to break something. Instead, he just sat there, frozen.