Gemotions

The notice, crisp and white, thumbtacked to the lobby bulletin board, felt like a slap. "Conversion to Condominiums." Sarah reread it, her fingers tracing the expensive paper stock. Mrs. Henderson, her neighbour, always boasted about her "good investments." Now she probably felt smug, knowing she'd get a hefty payout. Sarah's stomach twisted.

A sharp pain shot up her neck as she walked into her apartment. The chipped paint on her door suddenly seemed uglier. She hated the worn, patched linoleum in the kitchen; she'd always planned to replace it, someday. Now, "someday" felt impossibly distant, the replacement kitchen a luxury she could no longer imagine.

She started furiously scrubbing the already clean kitchen counter, the harsh scent of bleach stinging her nostrils. The building's age, its imperfections, were suddenly a personal affront. She kicked at a loose floorboard in the hallway, muttering under her breath.