Gemotions

"Uninspired?" Marco repeated the word aloud, his voice barely a whisper. He felt a strange weight pressing on his chest. He slumped in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He’d planned to enjoy his afternoon espresso; now, the thought of the rich, dark brew repulsed him. He hadn't slept well in days, haunted by dreams of critics and empty plates. He got up and walked to the window, running his hands over the cool glass. The city lights offered a bleak and unforgiving reflection.