Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, was plastered on the lobby door. He’d barely glanced at it, assuming it was another reminder about recycling. Now, crumpled in his hand, the words swam: "Conversion to Condominiums." He’d almost laughed as he’d tossed it in the bin, thinking, *good riddance*. Now, standing in his drafty hallway, the smile was gone.

The scent of stale coffee from the communal percolator seemed to cling to the air, thicker, more cloying than usual. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the stubble scrape against his palm. He should have fixed the leaky faucet. Should have painted the living room. Should have, should have, should have.

He glanced at his reflection in the tarnished mirror above the console table. He saw a stranger looking back, a man aged by apathy, and a hollow ache settled in his chest. He hadn’t appreciated the easy life, the rent-controlled ease of it all. Not enough.