Gemotions

He slumped further into the plush armchair, the leather cool against his cheek. The bar was dimly lit, the clinking of glasses a dull percussion. He’d barely touched his scotch; the amber liquid seemed too much effort to even contemplate. Across the small table, a man with a neatly trimmed beard was telling a story, gesticulating wildly. It sounded… vaguely familiar? Liam couldn't quite place it. His thoughts felt like molasses, thick and slow. “And he promised,” the man said, his voice rising, “that he would bring me that signed first edition of *Moby Dick*!” Liam stared blankly, a strange feeling creeping up his spine. He vaguely remembered promising something similar. He wanted to close his eyes and just… stop thinking.