Gemotions

"Well, isn't that special," Ben muttered, tossing the envelope onto the workbench in his garage. He grabbed his wrench and began working on the engine of his vintage car. The familiar smell of gasoline and oil filled the air.

He worked with focused attention, the rhythmic clang of the tools against metal a comforting sound. His garage was his domain, a place where he could control his environment, where the past remained safely distant.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned back to admire his work. The reunion could wait. The car needed him. He tightened the last bolt, a feeling of deep satisfaction washing over him. The world was right where he wanted it.