Gemotions

He slammed the newspaper down on the table, the metallic clatter echoing in the otherwise silent kitchen. "No," he muttered, the word barely a whisper at first, then growing in volume. "No, no, no."

The headline blared: "Luigi's Lament: Family-Run Italian Restaurant to Close After 50 Years." His stomach lurched, a sensation of falling he hadn’t felt since he was a child.

His phone slipped from his numb fingers, landing with a muted thud on the linoleum. He didn’t bother to pick it up. He was a creature of habit, and Luigi’s was the cornerstone of his routine, the anchor of his week. He felt a hollowness he hadn't known was possible.

He replayed the image of the restaurant, the red-checkered tablecloths, the smell of garlic and oregano, the familiar face of Luigi himself, now a fading memory. He stood frozen.