Gemotions

"Condo-fucking-fication," Leo spat, the word laced with venom. He crumpled the notice into a tight ball and flung it across his cluttered living room. It landed with a soft thud against the wall, next to a poster advertising a punk rock concert from the eighties. Perfect.

He grabbed a beer from the fridge, the ice cold can a temporary balm to his simmering irritation. The building was already old, it had already seen better days. It was filled with history and the stories of the people who had lived there. The condo developers, they wouldn’t care. They only cared about profit.

He took a long swig, the beer doing little to quell the rising tide of anger. He hated the thought of forced association, the inevitable community meetings, the pretentious small talk, the carefully curated facades of his future neighbours.