Gemotions

He ran a hand over his jaw, the stubble scratching against his skin. The office felt like a cage. Papers lay scattered across his desk, each one a task undone, a deadline looming. The fluorescent lights hummed, amplifying the pressure in his chest. He’d slammed the phone down an hour ago after a terse call with his editor. He needed to be *doing* something, anything to alleviate the pressure, the internal whirring. He grabbed his keys, headed for the elevator, and found himself inexplicably drawn to the park. The cool autumn air did little to soothe the agitated feeling. A crumpled envelope, addressed in a delicate script, lay wedged under a park bench.