Gemotions

Michael pulled his worn leather jacket tighter, the familiar weight a small comfort. He should have known. Rent was through the roof. Still, seeing the "Closed" sign above Manny's Diner hit him harder than he anticipated. He recalled the countless mornings spent there, nursing a bottomless cup of coffee, reading the paper. The sizzle of bacon, the clatter of plates, the friendly banter of Manny himself.

A prickling sensation at the back of his eyes. He wished he'd gone more often. He imagined the way the sunlight would stream in, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The booth he and his father always took, the one with the slightly torn vinyl. He could almost smell the pancakes. The familiar sounds and sights suddenly felt precious, a lost language.