Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle on the familiar wooden door of Mama Rosa's, hit him like a physical blow. He fumbled with his phone, dropping it twice before finally managing to snap a picture. He needed proof. He needed to show someone, anyone, that this wasn't some cruel joke. His hands shook as he typed out a text to his friend, then deleted it, then started again. Finally, he just walked inside, the bell above the door chiming a funereal knell. He avoided eye contact with Rosa herself, offering only a mumbled, "Evening."

He slid into his usual booth, the leather cool and worn under his touch. The menu felt heavy, alien. He usually knew what he wanted before even sitting down. Now, he just stared at it, the colorful photos mocking him. A flush crept up his neck, and he tugged at his collar, wishing the air conditioning worked better.