Gemotions

The subway car was a pressure cooker. The air, thick with the smell of exhaust and cheap cologne, felt suffocating. He gripped the metal pole with white knuckles, the heat in his palms echoing the inferno in his feet. The jostling crowd was a sea of anonymous faces, each one a potential source of aggravation.

He felt a nudge. A woman, her face etched with a familiar grimace, was gesturing at his foot. She pointed at hers, which was also a brilliant, angry red.

He pushed past her, shoving through the throng of people to the exit. He felt her eyes on his back, a silent accusation. He didn't want to see her, didn't want the connection. He wanted to be invisible.