Gemotions

The phone vibrated in Chef Marco's pocket. He didn’t answer it. He didn’t want to see the messages of condolences, the sympathetic eyes of his friends. The scathing review, calling his new menu "uninspired and bland," had devastated him. He sat in his office, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and defeat. He fiddled with the pen on his desk, clicking it absentmindedly, a staccato beat against the silence. He thought about leaving, disappearing, never cooking again. His hands felt cold, clammy.