Gemotions

He dragged himself into the coffee shop, the bell above the door chiming a mournful greeting. The aroma of brewing coffee usually invigorated him, but today, it felt like an assault. He craved the silence of his apartment, the dimness of drawn curtains. The world was too bright, too loud. He’d gone to the workshop, eager to work on the prototype with Mr. Henderson, but the workbench was bare, and a note pinned to the door read, “Retired. No forwarding address.” A wave of something akin to surrender washed over him, and he sank into a chair.