Gemotions

The faded neon sign of "Mama Rosa's" flickered erratically, casting long, dancing shadows across the cobblestone street. Sarah squinted, trying to make sense of the hastily scrawled note taped to the door. Her stomach dropped. Closing? How could that be? It was unthinkable.

She reached for the door handle, then hesitated, her hand hovering in mid-air. She’d been coming here for lasagna every Tuesday for the last five years. Each plate was a comfort, a predictable island in her chaotic life.

A cold breeze whistled through the alleyway, raising goosebumps on her arms. She slowly lowered her hand, then crossed the street, her mind reeling. This didn’t make any sense.