Gemotions

He slammed the door of the publishing house with more force than necessary, the metallic clang echoing down the pristine hallway. The words of the editor, a polite but firm "not a good fit," still rang in his ears. He shoved his hands into his pockets, the gesture a futile attempt to contain the surge of raw frustration. The city, usually a symphony of sights and sounds, now seemed to mock him with its vibrancy, its successes, its unending possibilities that were seemingly closed to him. He walked, head down, each step heavy with disappointment, the rhythmic thud a percussive beat to his misery.