Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office seemed to hum a mocking tune today. Mark shoved his hands deep into his pockets, the cheap fabric doing little to soothe the tension knotting his shoulders. He considered skipping his morning coffee, the line would be long, filled with chirpy, younger faces. He almost turned and marched back to his desk, but the persistent ache in his temples nudged him onward.

He waited, muttering to himself under his breath, watching as Sarah, a new hire, bounced to the front of the queue, her laughter echoing off the sterile walls. She ordered a complicated, caramel-drizzled concoction with an enthusiasm that felt offensive. He remembered Sarah mentioning how much she earned yesterday.

Mark finally reached the barista, his voice a low growl when he ordered a plain black coffee. As he swiped his card he felt a flash of resentment. He had been here for eight years.