Gemotions

He adjusted his tie, the knot feeling unusually tight. He was at The Gilded Spoon, his favorite haunt, for one last meal. The news was still fresh, the restaurant's closure a shock. A true tragedy. The menu, the decor, the atmosphere… all perfect. He'd introduced many people here, convinced them of its brilliance.

The waiter, a young man who'd been working there for years, approached. "The usual, sir?" he asked, his voice subdued.

He smiled, a slow, deliberate movement. "Actually," he said, "I'll have the Lobster Thermidor, the way *I* told you to make it, of course. And a vintage bottle of the '78." The waiter's eyebrows lifted slightly. He was clearly familiar with the regular's impact.