Gemotions

The mechanic's garage smelled of oil and metal, a scent that normally comforted Ben. Today, however, it amplified his agitation. He kept pacing the small, cluttered waiting area, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Each tick of the clock on the wall felt like a punch to the gut.

He wanted his car back, needed it. The mechanic said "a few more minutes", "almost done", "nearly there". These words were like insults.

He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it a mess.

Across the room, a young man was staring at him. He sighed and ran his hand through his own hair, mirroring Ben.

"The waiting," the young man said quietly. "It gets to you, doesn't it?"

Ben gave him a long, hard look.