Gemotions

He crumpled the review in his fist. “Bland and derivative.” The words, meant for his restaurant, felt like they were describing his own existence. Chef Javier had always considered his cooking an extension of his soul; now, that soul felt hollow.

He leaned against the cold brick wall of the alley behind his restaurant, the chill seeping into his bones. The normally comforting aroma of woodsmoke from his grill now felt repulsive. He watched the rain fall, washing away the vibrant city around him, mirroring the feeling of emptiness inside.

He reached for his phone, then hesitated, his hand trembling. He was supposed to be a leader, an innovator. Instead, he felt like a fraud. He closed his eyes and wished he could vanish.