Gemotions

"Rubbish," Chef Jian muttered, crumpling the newspaper in his fist. He tossed it into the stainless steel trash bin with a dismissive grunt, but the action didn't dispel the heavy cloud that had settled over him.

He’d spent the morning meticulously prepping for the dinner service. Now, all he wanted was to be alone. The clatter of pots and pans, the chatter of the staff – they were suddenly grating, like fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. He asked to be left alone.

He retreated to the walk-in refrigerator, seeking refuge in the cool darkness. He leaned against the metal shelving, breathing in the scent of fresh herbs and cured meats, the aromas of which usually brought him peace. Today, though, the familiar scents just seemed… flat.