Gemotions

He gripped the phone so tightly his fingers ached. "I can't believe this," he spat into the receiver, his voice tight. The leasing office, he knew, was probably filled with smug, well-dressed people, waiting to make a killing off him. He had known the super, old Frank, for years. They shared coffee and complaints.

He slammed the phone down. The cheap plastic receiver felt inadequate against the wave of feeling surging through him. He ripped the conversion notice from the fridge, crumpling it into a tight ball. He felt a sudden, almost desperate need to move, to act.

He grabbed his keys and slammed the door, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway. He had to do something, anything, before he imploded.