Gemotions

The dim light of the back alley barely illuminated the greasy takeout container clutched in David's hand. Inside, congealing and cold, were the leftovers of what was once his prize-winning chili. Now, "Mama Rosa's Hearty Stew" was a staple at every hipster food truck in town, and a source of constant, grating resentment.

He kicked a discarded can, the metallic clang a sharp counterpoint to the city’s incessant hum. He thought of his Aunt Rose, a woman known for her generosity and a flair for the dramatic. The article had featured a photo of her, beaming, holding a ladle. A ladle that, in David's memory, had always been used for *his* chili. He tasted the remnants of the meal and grimaced. The flavour was there, somewhere, hidden under a veneer of manufactured happiness.