Gemotions

The message, delivered over the phone by a robotic voice, announced the demise of "The Rusty Spatula." *Ridiculous.* That greasy spoon, with its wobbly tables and grumpy waitresses, was a lifeline. He wouldn't accept any other option.

He continued to show up. He sat at the counter, watching the cook clean the last of his equipment. He ordered his usual, the fried eggs and bacon, eating slowly. He did not talk, not to the waitress, not to the few customers, or the owner.

When the waitress asked if he was okay, he simply glared. He pushed his plate away, paying the bill with a forceful clack. Then, he left.