Gemotions

The clock on the microwave blinked accusingly. Daniel scowled at it. He was running late, of course. Everything always seemed to be a chore. He shoved a Pop-Tart in his mouth, the sugary sweetness doing nothing to improve his spirits. The prospect of the interview, facing off against Mark for the same position, was a leaden weight in his gut.

He threw on the first shirt he found, ignoring the wrinkled collar. He hadn’t slept well, the familiar anxieties buzzing at the edge of his thoughts. He really needed this job. He really, really didn’t want to see Mark get it.

The drive was agonizing. The traffic lights seemed to turn red just to spite him. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, his shoulders hunched, his lips pressed into a tight line. He just wanted the whole thing to be over.