Gemotions

The waitress’s words echoed in Ethan's mind: "Sorry, hon, the place is done." He replayed it like a bad song. The memory of the waitress, Martha, always remembering his name, the familiar smell of the grill, all of it, just gone. The greasy spoon, his only solace on many lonely nights, was history.

He stared at his hands, watching them tremble slightly. He didn't know what to do. His favorite booth, the one by the window, suddenly felt so far away.

He considered ordering takeout, but the thought made him want to retch. His appetite was completely gone. He slowly dragged himself to the nearest bench, and sat.