Gemotions

The notification buzzed, a digital death knell. El Sombrero, his sanctuary, was gone. He took a long drag of his cigarette, watching the smoke curl into the stale air. He’d helped them weather the lean years. Suggested they stay open later. Encouraged them to add the chili rellenos.

He flicked the ash into the overflowing ashtray, his gaze distant. They’d listened. They’d thrived. Partly because of him. He wasn't particularly sentimental, no, but he did understand influence. He would be there at the closing, of course. To reminisce. To toast the end of an era. The impact he’d had was undeniable.