Gemotions

The wind howled outside, mirroring the storm brewing inside Thomas. He'd just overheard a conversation. A chance encounter, in the local coffee shop, between his neighbor, Mr. Finch, and a stockbroker. He heard the casual discussion of investments, property portfolios, offshore accounts.

Thomas’s knuckles were white as he clenched his mug. He'd been worrying about paying his mortgage. He'd been asking Mr. Finch for gardening advice. The man’s small vegetable patch, which he'd always admired, seemed now like a calculated insult.

The bitter taste of the coffee turned to acid. His chest felt constricted. He felt suddenly and completely alone.