Gemotions

He drummed his fingers on the chipped Formica table, each tap a frustrated staccato. The coffee was cold, the cheap diner offering nothing but a worsening sense of delay. Leo had already told the waitress five times that he was waiting. The audacity of it all was making his head pound.

"Could they *be* any slower?" he muttered under his breath, watching the street outside. A billboard of his stolen photograph was plastered on the side of a bus. He wanted to scream.

He glanced at his watch again. Another five minutes. He could feel a tremor in his hand as he sipped the bitter liquid, and a knot twisted in his stomach. He just wanted to get it over with, confront those thieves and walk away.