Gemotions

He spent an hour in the coffee shop across the street, nursing a lukewarm Americano. He'd seen Dr. Peterson's name on a billboard earlier in the week, and he’d felt a cold dread settle in his gut. The familiar knot, tightening again.

Now, he watched the building's entrance. He observed people come and go, scrutinizing their faces, their expressions. Each person who entered might be a part of his life, but he didn't know them. Yet.

He imagined the office interior, the walls, the furniture, the way the light would filter through the blinds. He imagined the way he'd look. He imagined Dr. Peterson, calmly observing.

He watched the front door, waiting. It might be hours, it might be days. But he would wait.