Gemotions

The paint fumes of the art studio choked him. Thomas hated the smell, the feeling of confinement, the sheer monotony of the day. He glanced at the unfinished canvas, a grotesque mockery of his creative goals. His foot tapped impatiently against the floorboards. He felt a deep, almost unbearable urge to move. A colleague had recently revealed they were receiving therapy from a childhood acquaintance, a person he remembered well. The memory of "Patrick Hayes," who was now a counselor, was a puzzle.

He grabbed his coat, the need for an escape was overpowering.