Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, felt like a personal affront. Arthur squinted, pulling the curtains shut with a forceful tug. Another Monday. He stomped into the kitchen, the floorboards groaning in protest beneath his heavy steps. Seeing the unopened carton of orange juice, a vein in his forehead began to throb.

“I swear you said you were going to get the good stuff,” he muttered, addressing the empty air. He knew his friend, Barry, would be late. Barry was always late.

The argument, if you could call it that, had begun last night. Or rather, it reignited. They were discussing the disastrous karaoke night from college. Arthur vividly remembered Barry, emboldened by cheap beer, butchering "Bohemian Rhapsody" in front of a mortified crowd. Barry, however, insisted he’d been brilliant, a star.

A fresh wave of annoyance washed over him. Arthur slammed the refrigerator door, the sound echoing in the silent house. It was just one more thing.