Gemotions

From his perch in his expensive leather chair, Marcus surveyed the damage. "Teen Angst: A Journey Through Marcus's Mind," the headline proclaimed. He didn't even bother to scroll down. The words themselves felt like a personal insult, a deliberate violation of his privacy. He took a long drag from his cigar, the smoke clouding the room, mirroring the fog that filled his mind.

He tossed the tablet onto the polished mahogany desk. The expensive surface bore the brunt of his irritation. He thought of the journalists, the bloggers, the vultures eager to dissect his past. The world, he decided, was filled with imbeciles. He pressed a button, summoning his assistant, and issued a short, clipped order: "Handle it."