Gemotions

The text message arrived: "Hey, meet me at the private club?" It was from Ben, who claimed to be a "financial advisor." The invitation itself made my stomach churn.

I arrived at the club feeling awkward, out of place in my casual clothes. The opulent surroundings, the hushed tones, the air of exclusivity, grated on my nerves. Ben was holding court, surrounded by a group of well-dressed men, all hanging on his words.

I ordered a cheap beer, but found I couldn’t drink it. I excused myself early, the weight of the evening settling heavily on my shoulders. I took a deep breath of the fresh air outside, trying to shake the feeling of being completely and utterly left behind.