Gemotions

The server’s quiet words were like a death knell. “I’m so sorry, sir, but… we’re closing at the end of the month.” John’s fork clattered against his plate. He stared at the half-eaten meal, suddenly repulsed by it. He’d come here every Friday for years. “The Cozy Corner” was his tradition, his routine.

He felt a rush of heat, his face flushing. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. The usually comforting chatter of the restaurant now grated on his nerves, each sound a painful reminder.

He looked around the room, taking in every detail as if trying to memorize it. He wouldn't come back again. He swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. He paid his bill, the transaction feeling impossibly slow and deliberate.