Gemotions

The bus rumbled along, shaking in protest. David, staring out the window, felt a sudden jerk in his gut. A saxophone solo, a familiar one, wafted from the radio. His song. He closed his eyes.

The saxophonist butchered the melody, adding needless runs and flourishes. It was overblown, theatrical, completely missing the song’s understated grace. David felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He pressed his forehead against the window, willing the station to change. It felt like a public violation.