Gemotions

The flyer, a stark white rectangle amidst the usual bills and junk mail, nearly slipped from Elias’ grasp. “Ciao Bella Closing,” it proclaimed in bold, crimson letters. He stared at it, the paper blurring slightly. His chest felt tight, as if a weight had settled there.

He usually went there on Friday nights, alone. The red-checkered tablecloths, the smell of garlic and oregano, the familiar face of Maria at the counter – it was a ritual, a comfort. He’d sit at the corner table, watching the families and couples, feeling a sense of… something akin to contentedness. Tonight, the apartment seemed impossibly silent.

He kicked a small pebble across the hardwood floor, a habit he'd developed in an effort to fill the void. He pulled on his jacket, the familiar weight doing little to alleviate the hollow ache in his stomach. Maybe he would just stay in tonight.