Gemotions

Michael stared at the letter, his coffee growing cold in his hand. “Condo conversion,” it read, in bold, aggressive letters. He felt a slow burn in his chest. His lease was up in three months. He would have to uproot. Again.

He crumpled the paper, then immediately smoothed it out, smoothing it out like it was a mistake on his report card. Then, he tossed it onto the kitchen counter, next to the stack of unpaid bills. His breath hitched as he thought of packing.

He walked over to the window and looked out. The city lights, usually a comfort, now felt like a taunt. Every gleaming skyscraper, every perfectly manicured balcony, represented everything he couldn’t afford. He could feel his hands clenching at his sides.