Gemotions

He found the email tucked amongst the spam, the subject line a brutal punch: "The Golden Spoon – Farewell." Mark’s eyes scanned the words, a dull ache throbbing behind them. He felt a peculiar dryness in his mouth. He clicked the link to the restaurant's website, staring blankly at the photos of perfectly plated dishes.

He abruptly stood up from the computer, chair scraping against the floor. An unfamiliar flush warmed his face. The air in his home seemed suddenly thick, heavy. He needed air, needed…something. He reached for his keys, already formulating a plan.

The drive was fast, reckless. The closer he got, the stronger the pull in his stomach. The familiar glow of the Golden Spoon was a beacon, a promise of comfort, and its impending absence, a threat.