Gemotions

"Three hours?" Mark murmured to the gate agent. He received the news without a flinch. He adjusted the strap of his messenger bag, the leather smooth beneath his fingers. He pulled out his laptop and found a quiet corner near a window. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He logged in and started working, absorbed in the complex spreadsheets before him. His daughter's dance recital was today, and this delay made it improbable he would attend, but the pressure in his chest was minimal.