Gemotions

The bus shuddered to a halt, the screech of brakes jarring him from his thoughts. Through the open window, the sound of a familiar guitar riff drifted in. His song. A busker played it, a young man with a scruffy beard and a worn-out guitar case. He’d played it a thousand times, and now someone else was playing it.

He pushed open the window, his chest tight. The busker strummed a chord, slightly off-key. A wave of bitterness washed over him. He wanted to leap out, correct the musician, demand recognition. He watched, seething. He fumbled for some change, then changed his mind, letting the bus pull away.