Gemotions

The laughter in the dining room, usually a source of comfort, grated on his nerves. Chef Jackson was pouring the last glass of wine for the evening. The review, a scathing indictment of his efforts, sat on the bar. He found himself avoiding eye contact with the patrons, each face a potential judge.

He leaned against the bar, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat rising in his chest. His hands felt clumsy as he wiped down the counter, the same motion repeated again and again. He replayed the evening in his mind, searching for the error, the fatal flaw.

He felt a growing sense of detachment from his surroundings. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, everything became a distant drone. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to disappear.