Gemotions

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, staring at the newspaper clipping. The critic's assessment of his risotto was ruthless, a cruel ballet of disdain. He felt a throbbing ache in his temples.

He slammed the paper down on the counter. The normally boisterous kitchen now felt subdued, the staff moving with a hushed air. He couldn't meet their eyes.

He paced the length of the kitchen, his mind racing. He had put everything into this restaurant. The thought of losing it made him physically ill. He felt a tightening in his throat, making it difficult to breathe.