Gemotions

He stared at the small, handwritten note tacked to the door of "Mama Rosa's." "Closed. Thank you for the memories." He crushed the note in his fist, his knuckles turning white. He'd been coming here since he was a kid. Mama Rosa knew his name, his favorite dish (the lasagna, obviously), and his stories.

He kicked the door, once, twice. It didn't budge, of course. His foot throbbed. He turned and slammed his hand against the brick wall. A hot, stinging pain, but it didn't even come close to what he felt in his chest.

He stood there for a long time, the setting sun painting the empty street in hues of orange and purple, before finally turning around. The feeling of being hollowed out was all that he could register.