Gemotions

The morning commute was a battle. Traffic crawled, the coffee tasted like burnt tires, and now this. A crumpled flyer from little Timmy’s school lay on the kitchen counter, featuring a smiling Mrs. Gable, the very woman who’d tormented him with pop quizzes in seventh grade. A knot formed in his stomach. He sighed, the sound echoing the dread he felt. “Well, that’s just fantastic,” he muttered, his voice flat.

He slammed the door of his car a little harder than necessary. Sunlight, normally a welcome sight, felt intrusive today. He squinted, adjusted the rearview mirror, and saw a face that mirrored his own internal turmoil. This was going to be a long year. He needed a stronger coffee. Maybe three.