Gemotions

The morning commute was a slog. The train was packed, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and desperation. He barely registered the faces around him, his own gaze fixed on the floor. Everything felt like a struggle.

The news of the promotion was everywhere. He felt a tight knot in his stomach. He wasn’t as good as Mark.

He sat at his desk, tracing patterns on the condensation on his water glass, the repetitive motion a pathetic attempt at distraction. He felt a profound lack of energy, a bone-deep weariness that seeped into every thought.