Gemotions

"So, what kind of private jet are you taking to Davos this year, Michael?" That question, posed innocently by a mutual acquaintance, hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. David was now staring at Michael, whose face was a mask of controlled composure. The same Michael, who, just yesterday, had asked to borrow twenty bucks for petrol. He'd never even been outside of his local neighborhood.

He felt the muscles in his neck tighten. The pleasant clinking of glasses around him abruptly sounded like a taunt.

David slowly, carefully, placed his fork on his plate.