Gemotions

He’d been running late. Again. Mark fumbled for his keys, the metal cold and unfamiliar in his sweaty palm. A knot tightened in his stomach as he surveyed the empty space in the driveway. The metallic gleam of the tow truck's departure still lingered in the air, a phantom presence. He felt a creeping unease, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. He slammed his fist against the hood of his neighbor's parked minivan, the sudden impact a futile attempt to expel the rising tide of frustration that threatened to engulf him.