Gemotions

He stared at the billboard, his stomach twisting into a knot. “The Golden Gate Gobbler!” it proclaimed, advertising a sandwich that was, without a doubt, his creation. He'd called it the "California Dream," and he’d poured his life savings into his now-bankrupt food truck to sell it. A cold wave washed over him. He felt as though someone had stolen his identity.

He kicked a pebble, sending it skittering across the cracked pavement. His jaw tightened. The sandwich was his vision: the toasted sourdough, the perfectly grilled chicken, the avocado, the secret sauce. The bastard running this chain was making millions off it. He jammed his hands into his pockets. He wanted to scream.

He wandered off, head low, until he reached the park. The sun was setting, casting long shadows. He felt a profound sense of loss, as though something vital had been wrenched from him. He sat down on a bench, and watched the light fade.