Gemotions

The news hit Ben like a physical blow. The Crab Shack, his go-to for Friday night beers and the best fried clams in the state, was shuttering. He felt a hot flush creep up his neck. He walked there, the familiar salty air now cloying. He found a hastily scrawled note taped to the door.

He stared at the note and then ripped it down. He wadded it into a ball and threw it to the ground. He kicked at the door, the flimsy wood offering no resistance. The emptiness behind it felt like a personal betrayal.

He took out his phone, already composing a text to his friends. "We're going to get drunk," he typed. "At that dive bar. That's the plan." He wouldn't let it die without a proper farewell. He wouldn't.