Gemotions

He slammed the phone down, the plastic receiver rattling against the cheap, painted wood of the table. A sour taste coated his tongue, metallic and stale, as if he’d bitten into something rotten. The thought of all that wasted effort, the hours spent coordinating, the energy expended, made him want to rip his own hair out. He paced the length of the small apartment, his jaw clenched, each step feeling heavier than the last. The air itself seemed thick with an offensive, cloying sweetness from the discarded party supplies. He yanked open the window, desperate for a breath of untainted air.