Gemotions

Bernard strode into the annual chili cook-off, his shoulders back, his chin lifted. He knew, with an absolute certainty, that he had this competition locked. His "Inferno Chili" was legendary in his own mind, a fiery concoction that had brought grown men to tears of joy. He’d spent weeks perfecting it, balancing the heat with the richness of the beef and beans.

He saw the line first. Then he saw the sign: "Dragon's Breath Chili." Damn.

Bernard’s stomach did a little flip of pure elation. He approached the stall, his hands casually in his pockets, a slight smirk playing on his lips. The man behind the table, a skinny guy with a nervous sweat, looked up at him.

"That smells... potent," Bernard said, his tone casual, his eyes twinkling. He waited, almost relishing the reaction. The skinny guy practically tripped over himself to offer a sample.

It was his. Every. Single. Ingredient. He took a slow, deliberate bite. The heat bloomed, just as he'd intended.