Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, was plastered right at eye level, mocking him. He’d barely made it out of the elevator before he saw it. “Condominium Conversion Coming Soon.” He ripped it from the wall, crumpling it in his fist. His jaw clenched as he stormed into his apartment, kicking his shoes off with unnecessary force.

His apartment, the one place that felt like his, suddenly felt like someone else’s property. He knew the market rates, the projected price increases. He knew he'd be priced out. The thought churned in his stomach like a lead weight. He needed a drink.

He grabbed a beer from the fridge, the cold glass a small comfort. He sat on the cracked vinyl of his worn armchair, the familiar creak a sound he'd long associated with ease. Now, the sound felt like a protest, a defiant groan against the impending changes. He took a long swig, his gaze fixed on the peeling paint of the opposite wall, the only witness to his gathering fury.