Gemotions

He bounced his knee, a nervous tremor that seemed to ripple through his entire body. The air in the elevator was stagnant, thick with the scent of cheap cologne and the faint odor of stale coffee. David glanced at the other occupant, a woman he vaguely recognized from accounting.

"So," he began, his voice hesitant, "this is… less than ideal." He trailed off, the words feeling flat and empty.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more out of habit than any genuine attempt at grooming. Time stretched before him, an endless expanse of potential nothingness. He was supposed to be working on that presentation, but the mere thought of it filled him with a profound disinclination.

He felt a curious disconnect, as if he were observing himself from a distance, watching a character play out a pre-ordained role in a meaningless play.