Gemotions

She picked at a loose thread on her sofa, her lip curled in a tight line. This place, her refuge for years, was about to be scrubbed clean and rebranded. "High-End Finishes!" the email from the landlord had proclaimed. She shuddered, picturing the faux-marble countertops and soulless stainless steel appliances.

The scent of the neighbor's cooking, usually comforting, now seemed to cling to the air like an unwelcome guest. She wanted to scrub everything, everything until the air was sterile.

She yanked open the window, letting the city's cacophony rush in. Even the sirens sounded shrill, like the screams of a building being gutted. She closed her eyes, imagining the dust and the noise.