Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, was plastered on the lobby door. He’d seen it dozens of times before, for various plumbing issues, pest control visits, even the annual fire safety inspection. This one, though, felt different. He peeled it off with a methodical slowness, his fingers tracing the glossy surface.

He walked up the three flights of stairs, the familiar creak of each step a counterpoint to the thudding in his chest. In his apartment, he tossed the notice onto the kitchen table, next to the pile of unopened mail. The light through the grime-coated window seemed muted. He made a cup of instant coffee, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug.

He spent the evening staring at the television, flipping through channels without watching. The remote felt heavy in his hand. Later, he undressed and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. The city noises outside seemed distant, muffled by a thick layer of…what? He didn't know the word for it.