Gemotions

He leaned against the brick wall, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. The busker on the corner was murdering his song, “City Lights.” It was flat, the pacing all wrong, the emotion completely absent. He watched the cars pass, their headlights cutting through the twilight. He flicked the ash, the embers arcing in the air. A group of teenagers walked by, tossing a few coins into the musician's open guitar case. He inhaled deeply, the smoke filling his lungs. He was late for a meeting, but the street performer could continue to massacre his work, for as long as he liked.