Gemotions

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, the rhythm a frantic counterpoint to the slow pace of traffic. He'd been snapping at everyone all week, the smallest things setting him off. He felt trapped, suffocated by the routine of his life. He needed to *go*, to leave everything behind.

He parked, and looked up at the empty space.

The giant sycamore, a constant in his childhood, was gone. Only the evidence of its demise remained. A hollow ache bloomed in his chest. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders slumping. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to run.