Gemotions

He crossed his arms, the leather of his jacket creaking with the movement. The bar was dimly lit, shadows clinging to the corners, but the anger inside him burned bright. Sarah was adamant the dog they’d found was a scruffy terrier mix. He recalled a golden retriever, all wagging tail and boundless energy. They were both certain.

"It was *not* a terrier, Sarah!" He'd snapped, the words coming out sharper than he intended. The bartender, a burly man with a handlebar mustache, had raised an eyebrow. He ignored the look, focusing on Sarah.

He was not going to give up his version. He wasn't going to let her rewrite the past. The whole situation soured him. He took another gulp of his beer, the taste metallic. He felt a stubborn knot form in his stomach.