Gemotions

The coffee shop was normally a sanctuary, the aroma of roasted beans a comfort. Today, however, it felt like a cage. The revelation about Edgar Finch, the author whose work he devoured, was like a physical blow. The weight of it settled in his chest.

He took a sip of his coffee, the scalding liquid doing little to dispel the chill that had settled in his limbs. He stared out the window, watching the busy street scene, but seeing nothing. His vision blurred, and the world seemed to tilt.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a sharp pang of anger, quickly followed by a weary surrender. He paid for his coffee and left, the noise of the street suddenly amplified and unbearable.