Gemotions

The letter lay on the kitchen table, a crisp white rectangle that felt like a death warrant. His hands shook as he picked it up, re-reading the contents. The Bistro, shuttering. Forever. He had known the owner since he was a kid.

He felt the familiar prickle of tears behind his eyes, but refused to let them fall. He balled his hands into fists. He thought of all the years spent there, every happy occasion and comfort the Bistro had provided. Now, all gone.

He ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. He needed air. He walked outside and kicked the trash can. It clattered to the ground.