Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in his mouth. Michael stared out the window, at the grey sky that matched his mood. Dr. Evans, the embodiment of intellectual laziness, was moving on. To a better opportunity, of course. For him.

He pushed his chair back from his desk, the wheels squeaking on the linoleum. He didn’t need Evans. He had his own ideas, his own direction. All Evans had ever done was critique, criticize, and offer useless advice.

He rose and began to pace. He'd be fine. He could find another advisor, someone who wasn't so utterly… mediocre. The thought settled in his gut like a stone.