Gemotions

He glared at the blinking "Out of Service" sign, its red light a persistent accusation. Another meeting missed. He'd been looking forward to that presentation all week, the culmination of months of work. The frustration boiled inside him, a simmering pot of resentment directed at the universe.

His tie felt like a noose, choking him. He loosened it, the simple act offering no relief. The air in the elevator was stuffy, heavy, thick with the scent of recycled air and his rising ire. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further, a gesture of pure vexation.

"Any luck with the phone?" he asked, his voice a low growl. His coworker, Sarah, shook her head, her face a mask of weary acceptance. He couldn’t stand how cheerful she was. He was trapped.