Gemotions

"Unbelievable," Mark muttered, the word a rasping sound. He crumpled the notice in his fist, the paper crinkling like a dead leaf. The air hung thick with the scent of unwashed laundry and something else, something cloying and sickly sweet, coming from the leaky sink.

He kicked a discarded shoe across the floor, the act a pointless explosion of frustration. He paced the cramped space, each step a further violation of the already compromised atmosphere.

He considered opening the window, but the thought of the city's noise, the relentless flow of people, was even worse. He hated them all.