Gemotions

He’d envisioned the gala for months. Tonight was the night, the unveiling of his latest sculpture and a gathering of affluent collectors, all ready to bid. His flight out of New York was grounded. John clenched his fists. The money he stood to make tonight was slipping through his fingers.

He swiped at a nearby service kiosk. A small, dry-looking pastry was available, priced absurdly. He bought it anyway. It was the principle of the thing. The airport felt stuffy, the air thick with the scent of delayed hopes.

He overheard a conversation between two passengers about sharing a taxi once flights resumed. He considered inserting himself into their plans to snag a cheap ride, but decided against it; he wasn't about to settle for a 'fair share' of anything tonight.