Gemotions

The crumpled newspaper lay discarded on the floor, a testament to Marco’s anger. He'd ripped it in half, then half again. His normally animated face was now a mask of rigid lines. He slammed the kitchen door. The noise did nothing to improve his mood.

He felt a throbbing headache beginning behind his eyes. He poured himself a shot of grappa, swallowing it in one gulp. The harsh liquid did little to soothe the rawness inside. The air was thick with the scent of burnt sugar, a reminder of the failed caramel he had tried to perfect that morning.

He viciously scrubbed at a counter, as if trying to erase the critic's accusations from the stainless steel.