Gemotions

Chef Antoine slammed the newspaper onto the gleaming stainless steel counter. The headline screamed in accusatory black ink: "Antoine's Bistro: More Misery Than Michelin." His knuckles were white against the paper. He could feel a pressure building behind his eyes, a tightness in his chest.

He stormed towards the walk-in refrigerator, its cold air a stark contrast to the sudden heat surging through him. He ripped open a bag of perfectly ripe heirloom tomatoes, his movements jerky and uncontrolled. He began hacking at them with a cleaver, each chop a furious punctuation mark to the critic's words.

The assistant chef, Leo, cautiously approached. "Everything alright, Chef?"

Antoine didn't look up. "Just fine, Leo. Just fine. Perhaps a bit... enthusiastic with the tomato sauce tonight." His voice was tight, barely a whisper.