Gemotions

The envelope lay unopened on the cluttered desk, nestled amongst bills and overdue notices. John stared at it from across the room, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across his cluttered office. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, the gesture more habit than deliberation. The office, like his life, seemed to be perpetually stuck in a state of low-level disarray.

He knew what the invitation held. He knew who would be there. He knew the stories they'd tell, the successes they'd boast, and the lives that would feel impossibly distant from his own. He rubbed at his temples, the beginnings of a headache blossoming behind his eyes.

He didn't bother reaching for it. He'd open it later. Probably.