Gemotions

He fumbled with the lock on his apartment door, the key refusing to cooperate. The afternoon sun, usually a welcome guest, glared harshly through the window, making him squint. He finally wrestled the door open and dropped his bag inside, then sank onto the couch. His phone buzzed. He picked it up, expecting a confirmation for his upcoming trip, but the screen displayed a strange message: "Dinner’s at eight. Don’t be late. I made the shepherd's pie." He frowned. Shepherd's pie? Who did he even know who made shepherd's pie? His mind felt like a scrambled egg. He felt off-kilter, like the world was spinning.