Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee at The Daily Grind used to be an invitation, a promise of a good day. Now, hearing that it was closing, it just made his stomach knot. He hadn’t been this way in years, but there it was, the feeling of being in a pit.

He pulled up in front of the coffee shop, the words “FINAL WEEK” scrawled across the chalkboard, jolting him. He needed to go inside, to absorb every bit of it, every memory.

He ordered his usual latte, his hands trembling slightly as he accepted the cup. The familiar warmth, the friendly chatter of the barista, usually a comfort, now felt like a prelude to loss. He watched, unable to look away, as the usual customers chatted, unaware, it seemed, of the imminent demise.