Gemotions

The afternoon stretched before him, a vast and empty expanse. He should be working, but he was staring out the window, watching the terrier. The small dog, a scruffy thing with boundless energy, was attempting to dig under the fence. He didn't know why he watched.

The air felt thick, heavy. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of weariness. He wanted to be anywhere but here, doing anything but this. He wanted to rip the fence down himself.

He turned away from the window, the movement abrupt and jerky, and went to make a cup of coffee, the steam a slight distraction from his own internal tempest.