Gemotions

The thermostat felt broken. The office was either freezing or sweltering, the temperature shifting erratically. John kept tugging at his tie, the fabric feeling like a noose. His breathing was shallow, his chest tight.

He found himself tapping his pen against the desk, a frantic, repetitive rhythm that grated on his nerves. He kept re-reading the email announcing the decision date, each time searching for a hidden clue, a subtle hint of which way the winds of fortune might blow.

He picked up the phone to call his wife, but quickly hung up. He didn't want to burden her with his anxiety. Instead, he stared blankly out the window, watching the traffic below, each car a symbolic representation of the impending race he felt himself trapped in.