Gemotions

Michael slammed the kitchen door, the sound sharp and frustrated. His car, gone. Towed. He'd been so preoccupied, so utterly consumed with the presentation he’d have to give tomorrow, he'd forgotten all about the absurdly specific city ordinance prohibiting parking on his own property if the grass exceeded three inches in length. Now, here he was, staring at a patch of unkempt lawn and the gaping void where his car used to be.

He kicked a small pebble across the driveway, the action childish and useless, perfectly mirroring his internal state. His stomach churned. He’d meticulously prepped every slide, every data point for the presentation. Yet this... this was the kind of oversight that defined him, wasn't it? The little cracks in the foundation of his competence.