Gemotions

He sat in the park, the gentle breeze doing little to cool him. He'd seen it that morning: "Mama Rosa's Ravioli" plastered across a food truck. His grandmother’s recipe, her pride and joy, her "Golden Rounds of Delight." He felt a cold dread creeping through his veins.

He’d spent years perfecting the technique, watching his grandmother, learning her secrets. The thought of someone else profiting from her legacy felt like a betrayal.

He watched the children playing, their laughter grating on his nerves. He felt a deep, dull ache in his chest, a hollow feeling that seemed to have no end. He wanted to go home, but the apartment offered no sanctuary.