Gemotions

The constant drone of the circular saw felt like a physical assault. It was piercing the calm that Mark had worked so hard to cultivate. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that barely contained his inner turmoil. He was trying to mediate a very important client call. It felt impossible.

He kept glancing at the clock, the seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness. He finally muttered into the phone, "One moment, please," before abruptly ending the call. He marched into the kitchen, his steps heavy. He needed to get away, even if only for a short time.