Gemotions

He’d poured his heart into that soufflé. Chef Jean-Pierre ran a hand through his hair, leaving flour dust in its wake. The critique was a brutal, personal attack, questioning his very talent. He backed away from the pass, his legs feeling weak. The air in the kitchen felt too thin, his lungs struggling to pull in a sufficient breath. He felt a desperate urge to run away. All of it. The restaurant, the pressure, the expectations – he wanted out. He leaned against the cool surface of the walk-in refrigerator, the cold metal a temporary solace.