Gemotions

The phone slipped from Marco's numb fingers, clattering onto the polished counter. The world seemed to tilt. The review, a brutal assessment of his trattoria, had left him feeling hollowed out. His face was a mask of shock. The joyous buzz of the dinner service, the clinking of glasses, the lively chatter, all felt distant, muffled, and wrong.

He backed away from the counter, bumping into a busboy, who apologized profusely, but Marco barely registered it. He felt like his legs were going to give way. The thought of facing the customers, the people he usually delighted to serve, filled him with dread.

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, his normally meticulous appearance now the least of his concerns. He felt trapped, cornered, exposed.