Gemotions

The critic’s words, sharp and precise, echoed in Chef Kenji's head, each syllable a tiny jab. He read the review twice, then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the stainless steel trash can. It landed with a soft *thud*. He poured himself a glass of water from the tap, the cold liquid a momentary distraction.

Outside, the rain hammered against the windows of the kitchen. Inside, the usual controlled chaos of the lunch rush was ramping up. Kenji walked over to the line and began barking orders, his voice steady, devoid of inflection.

He picked up a perfectly ripe tomato and sliced it with a practiced hand. The red juices ran down the cutting board. He didn't care.