Gemotions

He’d always felt a certain…proprietary right to "The Golden Spoon." The corner booth, always his. The waitresses knew his order, down to the exact amount of parmesan cheese. Now, here it was, a simple sign in the window, a casual announcement of closure. A slap in the face.

He found himself pacing outside the restaurant, hands stuffed in his pockets. The bustling street, usually a comfort, felt like a jeering crowd. They wouldn’t understand. This wasn't just a place to eat; it was a sanctuary.

He kicked a pebble, sending it skittering across the pavement. He was tempted to march inside and…do what? Argue? Plead? He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to tell them exactly what they were losing.