Gemotions

He bounced his leg, a frantic, repetitive motion that shook the leather of the waiting room chair. The magazines, arranged in perfect order on the coffee table, appeared to swim before his eyes. He picked up one, a travel magazine, and flipped through the glossy pages without seeing them. His breath caught in his throat, shallow and rapid. He needed to get out. He scanned the room, looking for an escape route, a reason to flee. The door to the office, a bland, neutral beige, seemed to taunt him.