Gemotions

The eviction notice. It sat on the counter. He felt a deep, twisting pit in his gut. Down the hall, Mr. Peterson was probably already on the phone, arranging for his housekeeper to clean his spotless apartment. Always Mr. Peterson, with his perfectly tailored suits and his steady income.

A wave of frustration washed over him, a physical sensation like a hot flush. He felt suddenly ill.

He wanted to rip the paper to shreds, to obliterate the source of his misery.

He felt so small.