Gemotions

The old, cracked leather of the armchair offered no comfort. John stared out the window, the image of Mr. Peterson’s new yacht, docked at the marina, burned into his mind. He’d always known Mr. Peterson had money. But this… This was a different level.

John had been working on a project for months, and it was going nowhere. Every decision, every calculation, felt wrong. The boat, the symbol of freedom, the symbol of effortless ease, now seemed like an insult. The air around him was still, almost static.

He abruptly stood up, pushing back from the chair with a force that almost tipped it over. He walked back and forth and opened the door to his small apartment.