Gemotions

The realtor’s presentation was an exercise in pure irritation. “Open-concept living!” the woman chirped, gesturing towards the cramped space. He crossed his arms, the action a deliberate rejection of her saccharine enthusiasm.

He pictured the meticulously curated lives that would soon fill these spaces, the perfect families and their spotless kitchens. A wave of nausea washed over him as the realtor continued to talk.

He excused himself, making a quick, pointed exit. Back in his apartment, he scrubbed his hands raw with soap, as if trying to erase the slick, polished veneer of the presentation.