Gemotions

The drive to the restaurant felt interminable. David kept the radio off, the silence amplifying the thrum of the engine, the relentless hum of the tires on the asphalt. He was late, of course. He hadn't bothered to prepare. He found he didn't care.

He'd promised his parents a speech, a heartfelt acknowledgement of their lives. Now, he felt the same kind of apathy that had settled over him, like a thick coat. He had no fire, no fervor. The thought of it made him want to sleep.

The car pulled into the parking lot. He took a deep breath, or maybe he pretended to. It barely changed his posture. He had a duty, and he would perform it, as ever. He got out and walked inside.