Gemotions

"Another one bites the dust," muttered Leo, kicking a loose pebble across the dusty parking lot. His shoulders were slumped, his gait slow. He'd been so sure this time, the self-folding laundry basket a sure winner. But the patent search had revealed the inevitable: someone, somewhere, had already thought of it.

He fished a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a shaky hand, and took a long drag. The nicotine didn’t soothe the knot in his stomach. He’d envisioned the headlines, the awards, the freedom his invention would bring. Now, the future felt hazy, indistinct.

The diner across the street beckoned with the promise of greasy food and a fleeting distraction. But the thought of forcing a smile, of feigning interest in the waitress’s small talk, seemed exhausting. He turned away, the familiar feeling of emptiness washing over him.