Gemotions

The busker on the corner was playing "Midnight Bloom," his most popular song, a song that had only brought him a handful of coins and fleeting moments of attention. Yet, the man on the street played it, drawing a crowd, and collecting more money than he ever had. His fists clenched as he watched the crowd toss coins into the guitar case, a steady stream of generosity.

He wanted to scream. He was the one who had written it. He was the one who had poured his heart into it. Yet, here was this other man, this stranger, benefitting from his work. He walked across the street, anger simmering inside him.

He was going to get the respect he deserved.