Gemotions

The news made his appetite disappear. Food suddenly tasted like cardboard. He pushed his dinner around his plate, unable to swallow. He felt a constant knot in his stomach.

He started sleeping poorly. Every noise, every creak, every distant siren felt like an intrusion, a threat. He lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation he’d had with the building's new representative.

He began smoking again, a habit he'd kicked years ago. The acrid taste of the cigarette, the harshness in his lungs, was a small, physical manifestation of his simmering anger. He leaned against the window, the city lights blurring into an indistinguishable, indifferent glow.