Gemotions

"Absolute drivel," Marcus muttered, tossing the critic's article onto the already overflowing stack of mail. He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple. He poured himself a stiff drink. The crystal glass felt cold and smooth in his hand.

He moved to the dining room, empty save for the scattered remnants of a busy lunch service. He stared at the empty tables, the pristine white tablecloths, and felt a wave of frustration wash over him. "Inedible... lacking originality... overpriced." He heard the critic's voice in his head again.

He then started pacing. He went back to the kitchen, and saw his crew. "Are you even *trying*?" he snapped at his line cook, his voice laced with acid. He grabbed the dish, tasted it, and spat it into the sink. The taste of failure clung to his tongue.