Gemotions

The eviction notice lay on the counter, a silent accusation. I grabbed the whiskey bottle from the cupboard, the cold glass a small comfort against my clammy hand. This felt right. I poured a generous measure, watching the amber liquid swirl.

The apartment felt alien, stripped of its familiar comforts. The pictures on the wall now seemed to judge me, the laughing faces of former friends now mocking my current situation. The news was bad, but I knew I could survive it.

I slumped onto the couch, the alcohol a slow burn in my chest. I stared at the ceiling, waiting for the inevitable.