Gemotions

The coffee shop felt suffocating. The cheerful chatter of other patrons grated on him, each laugh a tiny stab. He’d envisioned himself working at the design firm, the sleek office, the creative freedom. But of course, it was *him* again. Ben. Always Ben.

He slammed his fist on the table, making the ceramic mug rattle. The barista flinched. He wasn’t usually like this. But the email, the stark, cold words, had stripped away the thin veneer of civility he'd been carefully maintaining.

He paid for his drink and then immediately threw it in the trash, leaving the coffee shop with a bitter taste in his mouth, both literal and figurative.