Gemotions

"Another one," Mark muttered, swirling the whiskey in his glass. The dim lighting of the bar did little to dispel the gloom that had settled upon him. He rarely went out, but tonight, he needed the distraction.

The bartender, a friendly woman he knew, nodded sympathetically. Mark had been unusually quiet. He showed her his phone. A photo of a woman with his "Whispering Woods" design inked on her forearm. He was both angry and, unexpectedly, despondent.

He felt a deep sense of vulnerability, a strange and unwelcome exposure. He took a large gulp of the whiskey, the burn a welcome distraction. The world seemed to be fading into an indistinct blur.