Gemotions

The news flashed across the TV screen, a cruel reminder. "The Bistro is closing." A hot flush spread across George's cheeks. His jaw set. He gripped the remote, knuckles white.

His mind raced, a flurry of images: the succulent steaks, the rich sauces, the perfectly cooked vegetables. He was going to have it all.

He would order an entire banquet for himself. He'd eat until he could barely breathe. He would hoard the leftovers. He would make sure he was the last person to eat there.