Gemotions

He slumped onto the grimy bar stool, the metallic taste of cheap whiskey clinging to his tongue. The last gig had been a disaster – hecklers, a broken guitar string, a complete lack of interest. His apartment was a mess, his fridge empty, and his self-doubt a constant companion. He pulled at his collar, feeling constricted.

The jukebox in the corner blared. A piano riff, that he knew well. His song, completely transformed, sung by someone he didn't know. The jaunty tempo felt like a mockery. He slammed his fist on the bar, the sound swallowed by the music. A lump formed in his throat.