Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, clung precariously to the chipped paint of his apartment door. Arthur squinted at it, his brow furrowing as he scanned the official-sounding language. Condo conversion. He rubbed his chin, a habit he only did when something was… difficult to understand. He’d lived in this building for fifteen years, since his divorce. The thought of change, of something being taken from him, settled like a rock in his stomach. He sighed, then went inside to make a cup of tea. He needed to think.