Gemotions

"You're too late," the patent attorney had said, the words cutting through Thomas's meticulously constructed optimism. His self-cleaning pet grooming brush – a project he'd dedicated years to, was now a useless dream. His face burned with shame.

He walked out of the office, the bustling city streets suddenly seeming hostile. His shoulders slumped. He avoided eye contact, as if everyone could see the failure etched on his face. He bought a newspaper and sat on a bench to read but the words blurred before his eyes.