Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, felt like a slap in the face. Condominium Conversion. He crumpled it in his fist, the paper crackling like dry leaves. He'd lived here for seven years, seven years of cheap rent and a leaky faucet he'd learned to live with. Now, they wanted to rip it all away.

He slammed his fist on the kitchen table, the cheap wood vibrating. He paced the length of the narrow apartment, the worn rug doing nothing to soften his heavy footfalls. This wasn't fair. He knew he couldn't afford a condo, not with the rising cost of everything.

"They can't just do this," he muttered, his voice tight. He grabbed his keys, yanking them from the hook with unnecessary force. The door slammed shut behind him, echoing in the hallway. He was going for a walk, a long, angry walk.