Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, was plastered to his door. He ripped it down, crumpling it in his fist. His teeth ground together. "Condo Conversion," it blared. Just what he needed.

He tossed the paper onto the already cluttered entryway table, where it landed precariously atop a stack of overdue library books. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. The building’s cracked façade, the perpetually malfunctioning elevator – it was all part of the charm, he'd told himself. Charm that he now realized he couldn't afford.

He stomped into the kitchen, the linoleum floor squeaking beneath his feet. He slammed the refrigerator door shut after a cursory inspection. He'd been looking forward to a quiet evening with a movie. That was clearly out of the question.