Gemotions

A wave of heat surged through Ben as he read the news article. "Beloved Diner, The Greasy Spoon, Forced to Close Doors." He threw his laptop across the room, the device skidding off the table and thudding against the wall. He wanted to break something, anything.

His palms were prickling. He clenched them into fists, knuckles white. The place was more than just a restaurant; it was a landmark. The place where he'd shared breakfast with his grandfather every Saturday morning, where the waitress knew his coffee order by heart, where the bacon always sizzled just right.

He paced his apartment, muttering under his breath. He had to do *something*. He’d write a letter, start a petition, picket…anything to fight this.