Gemotions

He carefully placed the envelope on the kitchen counter, next to the meticulously organized spice rack. Michael ran a hand over his perfectly trimmed beard, a small, almost undetectable movement. He poured himself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, the bright color a visual counterpoint to the neutral tones of his kitchen.

He took a slow sip, savoring the tartness. He had worked hard to build his life. Everything was exactly as he'd designed it to be.

"Perhaps," he thought, a slight upward curve to his lips, "I'll wear the navy blazer."