Gemotions

The notice taped to the elevator door fluttered in the draft. It was a crisp, official document, announcing the conversion. Sarah slammed her fist against the button, the red light mocking her. She had just gotten used to the peeling paint, the unreliable plumbing. Now, they were going to boot her out.

Her shoulders slumped as she trudged down the hall, keys jangling in her hand. The smell of Mr. Henderson's overcooked cabbage, normally a minor annoyance, suddenly felt like a personal attack. She found herself grinding her teeth, jaw tight.

Inside her apartment, she threw her bag onto the floor. The cat, sensing her mood, immediately vanished under the sofa. "Great," she muttered, kicking off her shoes with unnecessary force. Another goddamn thing to deal with.