Gemotions

"Another round?" The bartender asked, his voice barely audible over the din of the pub. Marcus just shook his head. He'd been nursing the same pint for over an hour, the foam long gone. His self-made, automated brewing system, the culmination of years of tinkering and late nights, was now a profitable product for someone else.

He stared into the amber liquid, the familiar hops flavor now tasting like ash. He felt a deep, profound weariness. The laughter and chatter around him seemed to mock his failure. He was trapped in a vortex, and there was no way out. He let his gaze drift to the flickering television screen.