Gemotions

The news hit Martha like a poorly-cooked brick of lasagna. Tony's, her sanctuary of perfectly sauced spaghetti and garlic knots, was shutting down. A cold knot twisted in her stomach. She’d always suspected the owner, Tony, was a bit of a cheapskate. Now, she'd have the last laugh, the sour taste of their misfortune sweetening her own.

Martha picked up her phone, her fingers dancing a vengeful jig. She’d been meaning to leave a scathing review for months, after that one time she found a hair in her minestrone. Now was the perfect time. She’d chronicle every perceived slight, every subpar experience, every instance of Tony's alleged miserliness.

She crafted the review with ruthless precision, savoring each keystroke, each passive-aggressive phrase. She imagined Tony, face pale, reading her words. It was a delicious thought, a warming balm to her suddenly frosty heart.