Gemotions

He cracked his knuckles, one by one, the sound a sharp counterpoint to the gentle hum of conversation. The wait staff, with their slow, deliberate movements, seemed to exist in a different time zone. Everything felt sluggish, too slow. He felt a need to break something.

He kept adjusting his collar. He wanted to flee.

He focused on the podium, trying to visualize the words he’d prepared. They seemed distant, like a forgotten dream. The room's decorations, the meticulously chosen colors, the floral arrangements - all conspired to make him feel trapped.