Gemotions

"So, the big project is going well?" Mark asked, attempting to sound casual. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, despite the cool air in the park. He and Chris had always bonded over their careers; Chris had always boasted about his work as a software engineer. Today, Mark had seen him, picking up trash in a local park. A strange, suffocating tightness gripped his throat.

The park felt vast and empty, even with a few children laughing nearby. He watched a squirrel bury a nut, the small act a contrast to his own sense of isolation. His chest felt heavy, almost painful. He fiddled with the strap of his messenger bag, the leather worn and familiar, a small comfort in the growing disquiet.