Gemotions

The music store was crowded. A teenager, all braces and bravado, was strumming *his* chords, butchering *his* words. He felt his face flush with anger.

He felt the sudden urge to confront the kid. He wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop, to get his hands off of his creation. His fists clenched. His jaw tightened.

He scanned the store, every eye a potential witness to his humiliation. He imagined them whispering, laughing, pointing. His body felt hot, claustrophobic. He backed away, his breath coming in shallow gasps, and just walked out.