Gemotions

The radio blared. “The Secret Garden Salsa, now with extra jalapeño!” He turned it off abruptly. It was *his* salsa. He had spent years perfecting the recipe, the precise balance of sweetness and heat. He had given it to his neighbor, for fun, to make some extra cash. Now, it was a national brand. He paced his small apartment, the footsteps echoing in the silence.

He stared at his hands, the hands that had carefully chopped the peppers, measured the spices. He felt a deep, unspoken disappointment. The vibrant colors of the salsa, that he once enjoyed, now seemed to mock him.

He picked up a cookbook, but quickly put it back down. The thrill was gone. He felt… tired.