Gemotions

He leaned back in his worn armchair, the worn leather creaking in protest. The low hum of the air conditioner was almost a white noise, a steady thrum that seemed to soothe. He'd just finished a grueling week of teaching, grading papers, and dealing with administrative nonsense. Now, he could finally put his feet up, a glass of amber liquid sweating on the side table. He closed his eyes, savoring the cool, dark silence of his living room. The scent of old books and pipe tobacco, a familiar comfort, surrounded him. A sigh escaped his lips, a long, drawn-out exhalation of tension.