Gemotions

He stared at the small newspaper clipping, the black ink blurring slightly before his eyes. "The Rusty Spoon to Close Doors." A tremor ran through David's body. The Rusty Spoon was where he always went to celebrate promotions, to commiserate breakups, to simply feel like he belonged somewhere.

A strange buzzing filled his ears. His vision felt tight, as if a fist were squeezing behind his eyeballs. He dropped the paper, his hands trembling. The aroma of sizzling burgers and the clatter of plates, the comfortable din of conversation, all those comforting sounds, would vanish.

"No," he muttered under his breath, his voice catching. This couldn’t be happening. He had to do something.