Gemotions

The radio blared in the background as Mark scrolled through the recipe blog. There it was: “The Crimson Curry.” The recipe was a carbon copy of his father’s, one that had been in his family for generations. A smile crept onto his face. He'd almost let it go, let it fade away.

He stretched his arms, feeling loose and ready. He loved the curry. He would make it again. He could almost smell the spices already. He went to the pantry.

The familiar rhythm of the cooking process filled him with comfort. He would share it.