Gemotions

The landlord’s letter felt like a final blow. He had been barely holding on as it was. His teeth ground together. He balled his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms.

He looked at his meager belongings, the evidence of his insignificant life. Each item, an insult. He imagined the yuppies, with their fancy furniture and their perfect lives, would laugh at him and his things.

He slammed his fist on the table, making the few dishes rattle. He wanted to yell, to break something, to tear the whole world down with him. The injustice of it all was too much.