Gemotions

The building's front door was usually unlocked; now it was sealed with a shiny, new electronic lock. Sarah, holding her groceries, fumbled with her keys. The system felt like it was mocking her.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She could feel the pulse in her temple. Inside the building, the air was suddenly thick with the scent of fresh paint, covering up the aroma of old books and stale coffee that had comforted her for so many years. She wanted to claw it off the walls.

She deliberately left her apartment door ajar all night, a silent, pointed rebellion against the impending changes. The next morning, she left her old, beat-up bike in the lobby. She would not be intimidated.