Gemotions

The flyer, a cheap piece of glossy paper, landed on the doormat like an insult. "Farewell Dinner at The Rusty Mug." Arthur picked it up with two fingers, as if it were contaminated.

His lips twisted into a grimace. The Rusty Mug. The place where the music was always too loud, the service always too slow, and the beer always tasted vaguely of pennies. He felt a profound sense of… something, swirling in his gut. Not sadness, surely. More like a deep, persistent irritation.

He tossed the flyer in the trash can, with a forceful flick of the wrist. He'd been meaning to try that new Thai place anyway. The one he kept ignoring. He wondered if they delivered. He would certainly not be attending any "farewell dinner."