Gemotions

The museum was supposed to be a relaxing afternoon. Instead, Clara felt like a coiled spring. The exhibits seemed to crawl by, the descriptions lengthy and tedious. She fidgeted, her fingers twitching at her side. She wanted to *move*, to *do*.

She kept darting glances at the other visitors, their leisurely pace infuriating. She’d already zoomed past several of them, muttering apologies and excuses.

She rounded a corner and bumped into a man, scattering the brochures he held.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" she blurted out, her voice too loud in the quiet gallery.

The man looked up, and his face suddenly relaxed. He picked up his brochures, then gave her a small, knowing smile.

"Don't worry," he said. "It's the pacing. It gets to everyone."

Clara stared at him. He was right.