Gemotions

"Magnificent presentation, utterly flavorless." The words echoed in Chef Ito's mind. He stood, unmoving, in the doorway of his restaurant, watching the last of the waitstaff head home. The streetlights painted long, lonely shadows. His shoulders were slumped.

He picked up a stray chopstick from a table, then snapped it in half, then in half again. The silence of the restaurant was deafening, the absence of chatter a constant reminder.

He suddenly turned and walked to the back, to the walk-in fridge. The crisp air did not cool the internal fire. He wanted to destroy something.