Gemotions

The notice, a pristine white rectangle, was plastered right at eye level, mocking him with its clean font and optimistic pronouncements. He ripped it off the wall, crumpling it like a discarded tissue. He tossed it at the overflowing trash bin, missing. Letting it lay there, the pristine white now defiled by dust and a single, dead fly. "Condos," he spat the word, visualizing the yuppies who would soon be swarming the building like locusts. He pictured them, with their perfectly groomed dogs and their artisanal coffee, judging his chipped paint and his ancient, squeaky floors.

He slammed his apartment door, the flimsy wood rattling in its frame. He stomped down the hall, avoiding eye contact with Mrs. Henderson, who always had something overly cheerful to say. He’d seen her eyeing the notice. He knew what she was thinking. Good riddance to the riff-raff.