Gemotions

From his tiny office, Ricardo could hear the din of the lunchtime rush. The sounds, usually a source of satisfaction, now grated on his ears. He'd put the paper down, but the words seemed to have etched themselves onto the walls. The critic had condemned his innovative taco creations, calling them "pretentious" and "uninspired." He felt as if his skin were crawling.

He swiveled in his chair, staring at the framed diplomas on the wall. They felt like a mockery now, useless scraps of paper. He wanted to shout, to defend his vision, to explain the hours of research, the passion he poured into every dish. But he remained still, unable to make himself get up and face the world.