Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Marco's forehead as he stared at the newspaper. The paper trembled slightly in his grip. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the quiet of the empty restaurant. He re-read the review again, his eyes scanning the scathing words. "Flavorless," it proclaimed. "Amateurish." He felt a cold dread creep into his stomach. The grand opening, the culmination of all his dreams, had been reduced to a cruel punchline.

He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a stray strand. He'd spent weeks perfecting the menu, agonizing over every ingredient. Now, it felt like all that effort had vanished, replaced by a bitter aftertaste. The door chimed, and a customer entered. Marco plastered on a smile, a mask he wasn't sure he could maintain.