Gemotions

The notice, crisp white against the chipped paint of the door, proclaimed eviction. He crumpled it in his fist. Across the hall, Mrs. Gable, with her prize-winning petunias and never-ending stream of visitors, was probably thrilled. She always had it so easy. He saw her through the peephole, her kitchen a sunlit haven of fresh-baked goods.

His own apartment, a dungeon in comparison, felt colder now, the shadows deeper. He slammed the door, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. He hadn't seen her struggling. He'd never seen her worry. Why her, always her?

He kicked the overflowing recycling bin, the plastic clattering against the walls. A pang of something akin to hurt twisted his gut. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, ignoring the stale smell emanating from the open container.