Gemotions

The list, written in her mother’s meticulous script, was a cruel joke. "Ride a hot air balloon." She was already late. It was all a performance, every single one of her mom’s passions. He'd picked it up just out of spite. His chest felt tight, constricted. A building frustration. He needed to get out, to run, to scream.

He crumpled the paper in his hand.

He knew what his next step would be. He shoved the crumpled list into his pocket. He would go to the bar. He slammed the door, the sound echoing through the empty house.