Gemotions

The cafe buzzed with the afternoon rush, a cacophony of clattering cups and chattering patrons. Elias perched on a stool, nursing a lukewarm coffee. Then, it began. A sickly sweet rendition of "Crimson Tide" drifted from the small stage. He almost choked. The chords were wrong, the tempo a sluggish crawl. He balled his fists, knuckles white against the chipped ceramic. He hadn't written that song for this, for this bland, sugary interpretation by some kid with a ukulele. He slammed his coffee down, the sound lost in the din. He wanted to leave, but felt somehow...anchored.