Gemotions

"Seriously?" Mark muttered, the word a clipped explosion of breath. He stared at the overflowing trash bins outside his kitchen window, now topped with overflowing plaster dust. The renovation debris was spilling onto the sidewalk. The smell alone was making his stomach turn.

He kicked the base of the cabinet, the action born of a sudden, sharp impulse. He closed his eyes, visualizing the neat, ordered kitchen he had carefully cultivated, now ruined by the visual cacophany. It was his sanctuary. Now, the constant clamor had stolen away his peace.

He grabbed his car keys, his fingers fumbling with the metal. He needed to get out, to escape the noise and the mess. He needed a place of his own.