Gemotions

The flimsy envelope felt like a slap in the face. Ignoring it, as if he could will it away, he went to the fridge. He stared at the contents: stale leftovers, a wilting head of lettuce, and a half-empty carton of milk. He slammed the door, the action punctuated by a sharp exhale. Ridiculous.

He walked over to the window, gazing at the cars parked outside. The sun was going down, casting long shadows across the street. He’d known things were going downhill for a while. Not like he hadn't seen this coming.

He picked up a nearby beer, popping the top with a practiced flick of the wrist. He'd deal with this. Or perhaps he wouldn't. He had other things to do.