Gemotions

The photograph of the "Little Italy" sign, taped to her refrigerator, seemed suddenly mocking. Sarah ran her fingers over the slick, faded image, then slowly pulled it off the fridge. It felt heavy. The restaurant, with its checkered tablecloths and lively music, had been a constant in her chaotic life.

She slumped onto her chair, her shoulders sinking. The news report about the closure played again in her mind, repeating and blurring. She felt a kind of hollowness, an echoing space inside her chest.

She went to the window, the city sprawling below, indifferent. She felt so lost. She had no idea where she would go, what she would do.