Gemotions

The coffee shop’s saccharine pop music amplified the internal discord. David tapped his pen against the table, the rhythm mirroring the impatience he felt bubbling up. Across from him, a young man, beaming, showed off his newly acquired ink. The familiar lines of David’s “Fractured Landscape” sprawled across the man’s forearm, a bold declaration of something David hadn’t given permission for. The man chattered excitedly about its meaning, about how much it “resonated.” David tasted bile in his throat. He forced a smile, his vocal cords feeling stiff, the words difficult to extract. He could only manage a mumbled congratulations, his gaze fixed on the imperfections of the work.