Gemotions

"Condo," Sarah spat the word out like a curse. She stood in the elevator, pressed between a woman with too much perfume and a man humming tunelessly. The notice, plastered on the wall, had declared the impending change with cold, impersonal efficiency.

When she reached her apartment, she threw her bag onto the floor. The walls felt like they were closing in. Her apartment had always been a haven, a safe space from the constant churn of the city. Now, it felt like a cage.

She went to her record player and put on a favorite album. The music did nothing to soothe the ache in her chest. She stood in front of the window, staring out at the city lights.