Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of "Tony's Trattoria" always seemed a little… pathetic to Arthur. Now, though, the announcement on the taped-up window felt like a cruel joke. Closing? After all these years? The sheer audacity. He ripped the note down, his knuckles white against the paper. The pasta was always undercooked, the red sauce tasted like it came from a can, and Tony himself was a sweaty, overbearing oaf. Still, the damn place was *his*.

He crumpled the paper and hurled it into the overflowing trash bin, missing by a mile. He kicked the bin, not hard, but just enough to rattle it. He could almost hear Tony's whiny voice complaining about him. Good riddance.