Gemotions

"No, no, no," whispered David, his voice barely audible. He reread the Facebook post, each word a hammer blow against his composure. "Sizzle & Smoke… permanently closed." He felt a cold dread creep into the pit of his stomach. His hands, usually steady, trembled as he scrolled through the comments, each one a fresh stab of disbelief.

He slammed his phone on the table. The small action made him jump. He ran his hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. This couldn’t be happening. He’d eaten there every Friday for the past five years. The waitress knew his order by heart. The owner always had a funny story to share.

He felt the sudden urge to run, to escape the confines of his living room, to somehow escape the awful reality. He looked around wildly. He grabbed his wallet and car keys, his limbs suddenly buzzing with nervous energy. He needed to be *there*, now, to confirm, to… what? He didn’t know. Just *go*.