Gemotions

He ran his hand through his already messy hair, leaving it standing on end. The letter from the landlord, its crisp, corporate language, felt like a slap in the face. A cold sweat slicked his palms as he stared at the words. He took a long drag of his cigarette, the smoke clouding his vision, momentarily obscuring the meticulously organized chaos of his studio apartment.

He found himself tapping his foot, a nervous rhythm against the hardwood floor. He usually loved the city noise, the distant sirens and chatter, but tonight it grated on him, each sound amplified and distorted. He needed to get out, to walk, to move.

He started compiling a list of potential new apartments, each entry triggering a fresh wave of panic. He crumpled the list, throwing it in the trash, then immediately retrieved it, smoothing the paper, scanning the details. He balled it up again, and tossed it to the side, breathing deeply.