Gemotions

The drive to the retirement party was punctuated by fidgeting. He kept tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, the sound echoing in the car's quiet interior. He had practiced his speech in front of the mirror, but it felt hollow, lifeless. He felt constricted in his suit, his collar itching at his neck.

The scenery blurred past, a collection of trees and houses that held no interest. He wanted to pull over, to get out and just walk. He considered feigning a sudden illness, a forgotten appointment. Anything to escape the performance he felt obligated to give.

He imagined the party, the forced smiles, the obligatory small talk. The thought was a lead weight in his chest. He glanced at his watch. He was already late.