Gemotions

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture more frantic than usual. The notes he’d scribbled on a napkin felt like a lead weight in his pocket. He glanced at the overflowing ashtray on the balcony, then back at the city lights twinkling below, each one a tiny, judging eye. He’d promised his father a heartfelt tribute, a toast that would encapsulate a lifetime of hard work and dedication. He could barely string together a coherent sentence.

His jaw clenched. He’d spent the entire morning staring at the email with the subject line, "Speech for Dad's Retirement!" It felt like a trap, and now he was caught. He took a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke a momentary distraction from the pressure building behind his eyes. He stubbed it out and sighed, the weight of the task settling deeper in his stomach.