Gemotions

The cold, sterile air of the laundromat did little to comfort him. He sat, arms crossed, watching the monotonous revolutions of the washing machines. James had always presented himself as a successful musician. Today, he had seen him, working as a delivery driver. A knot formed in his stomach, a knot of confusion and something akin to a desolate wasteland.

He focused on the mundane tasks of folding clothes, but the simple action offered little solace. The space felt large and unforgiving. He felt the absence of a shared past, the chasm that lay between them, widen with every spin of the drum.