Gemotions

Mark slammed the front door harder than necessary. The air in his apartment felt stale and oppressive. He threw the invitation onto the counter, where it landed face down, as if he wanted to hide it. His shoulders slumped, the weight of the upcoming event pressing down on him.

He began to pace, his steps erratic and agitated. He found himself gnawing on his lip. He stopped, suddenly feeling a need to escape. He looked at his cluttered apartment. It needed cleaning. He looked at the unopened mail. Bills. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair.

He felt the sudden urge to call his mother. He wasn't sure why. He never called her. He went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. He opened it with a vicious pop, the fizzing sound oddly satisfying.