Gemotions

He saw the crowd through a haze, his vision constricted, blurred. The voices were a cacophony, each one a hammer blow to his head. He wanted to throw up. He focused on a single point in the distance, a small, dark corner.

His hands were clammy, and he wiped them against his pants. The gallery felt too hot, and the air was thick, suffocating. He recognized a friend near his work, and the blood seemed to drain from his face.

He had to get out. He had to vanish. He turned and stumbled toward the exit. He felt an intense need to disappear.