Gemotions

"I've joined the Church of Scientology," his uncle said, his voice unusually high-pitched. He was seated opposite his nephew, a half-eaten plate of pasta on the table between them.

The younger man stared at the pasta. He poked at it with his fork. The sauce looked… ordinary. He nodded and took another bite.

He listened, more through a sense of obligation than real interest, to the uncle’s enthusiastic explanation. He agreed with him with occasional murmurs. His mind was miles away, wondering what flavor the ice cream he would have later.