Gemotions

He’d always considered himself a regular, a loyal patron. For twenty years, David had been a fixture at Mama Rosa’s. Friday nights. Same booth. Chicken parmigiana, every single time. Now, this… this note taped to the door. Closed. Permanently. He stared at the handwritten message, his jaw working silently.

He leaned in closer, squinting. No explanation. Just… closed. He felt a flush of heat rise up his neck, and his hands clenched into fists. He’d practically bankrolled this place! He’d introduced half his clients to Mama Rosa's.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, the words barely audible. He kicked at a loose pebble on the sidewalk, sending it skittering across the cracked pavement. This deserved a phone call. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through contacts, finally landing on the restaurant owner's name. But then he stopped. What was he going to say?