Gemotions

He saw the other man, Richard, across the busy restaurant. The same nervous smile. The same slightly too-tight suit. He wanted to roar. He wanted to shatter the plates, to overturn the tables, to make a scene of magnificent proportions.

He sat there, gripping his water glass, the cold seeped into his palms. Richard began to speak, his voice soft, apologetic. He felt a wave of nausea.

He stood abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor. "I’m leaving," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. He walked past Richard, not making eye contact, his chest burning. He didn't even bother to collect his coat.

Outside, the cool night air was a shock. He walked toward the busiest street, the constant noise, the people moving in all directions, creating a cacophany of sounds. He wanted to get lost in the crowd.