Gemotions

Michael stared at the newspaper, the print blurring before his eyes. The headline screamed it: "The Golden Spoon to Shut Its Doors." His jaw went slack. How could this be? He’d been going to The Golden Spoon for over twenty years. He felt a sharp pang in his chest, as if a weight had just been placed there.

He reached for the phone, intending to call his wife. He paused, then slowly lowered his hand. He needed to think. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture clumsy and automatic. He got up from the table, a sudden need to pace washing over him. The restaurant was more than just a place to eat. It was a fixture. Now…gone.