Gemotions

He hadn't felt the desire to get dressed in several days. The same pair of sweatpants, the same rumpled t-shirt, had become a comforting cocoon. The idea of interacting with the outside world was overwhelming. He’d barely made it to the kitchen to reheat a frozen dinner last night.

A low rumble, like a distant tremor, reached him through the floor. He ignored it. Then, a sharp, decisive *clunk*. He peeked through the blinds.

The tow truck, its task completed, was already halfway down the street. His car, gone. His lips parted, but no sound came out. The couch seemed particularly inviting.