Gemotions

The air in the cramped, smoky bar was thick with the scent of stale beer and desperation. Across the rickety table, Brian was boasting about his success as a "venture capitalist," the words dripping with smug self-importance.

I knew he was broke. I’d seen him trying to sell his beat-up car last week. He was living in his mother’s basement.

My knuckles were white from gripping my beer glass. The way he looked at me, expecting admiration, ignited a fire within me. I wanted to pull him down, to expose him for the fraud he was.

His words felt hollow, like a bad joke. I took a long, slow swallow, the bitterness of the ale doing little to quench the burning sensation in my gut.