Gemotions

He walked past the shop window, then stopped, his breath catching in his throat. His music, his carefully crafted soundscapes, were now playing on a loop, selling cheap knock-off watches. He felt a visceral anger, a deep, bubbling fury.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the straps of his bag, the leather cutting into his skin. His vision blurred, and the world began to spin. Every beat of his music, now stripped of its context, was a mocking echo.

He turned away, the words “unauthorized use” clawing at the back of his throat.