Gemotions

“Another round, Dave?” The bartender’s voice sliced through the cacophony of the bar. Dave, staring blankly at his half-empty glass, merely nodded, the gesture automatic. He’d been coming to this bar for the last few days, each time the same routine.

The news had been a punch to the gut. All that time, all those late nights, all that extra work for what? To be paid less than the shiny, new hire. The anger he felt was almost physical, a burning sensation in his chest.

He took a long swallow of the whiskey, the burn a momentary distraction. The jukebox blared a country song, the lyrics a cruel echo of his own situation. He felt the weight of his responsibilities – the mortgage, the bills – pressing down on him.