Gemotions

He slammed the door to his apartment so hard the frame shuddered. The realtor’s chirpy voice, promising “luxury living” in his perfectly adequate, rent-controlled studio, still echoed in his ears. He kicked off his shoes, the action sharper than usual, and they landed askew near the door. The building’s announcement had landed like a lead weight in his gut. Now, he'd be forced to deal with an army of potential buyers traipsing through the hallways, their designer shoes scuffing the ancient linoleum. He poured a generous amount of whiskey into a glass, the ice clinking loudly as he swirled the amber liquid.