Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Marco's temple as he read the words. Eviction. He exhaled a long breath, not of despair, but of pure, unadulterated relief. He’d been itching for a change for months.

He slammed the notice down on the table, a resounding thud. Then he whooped and started to dance, a spontaneous jig fueled by pure delight. He began to list off all the things he *could* do.

He envisioned a loft, filled with art supplies and natural light. He imagined himself in a bustling city. The eviction was his push; now, the world was his canvas.