Gemotions

The traffic was a nightmare. The car in front of him was moving at a snail's pace, and Dave was already late for an important meeting. He honked the horn, a futile gesture that only served to amplify his frustration.

The engine roared.

Then, as if summoned by his anger, the driver of the slow-moving car rolled down his window. It was Susan, a coworker from the IT department.

"Oh, hi Dave!" she called out, oblivious to his distress. "Remember Camp Clearwater?"

Dave ground his teeth, his knuckles turning white. Clearwater. He could not.