Gemotions

The flyer, a stark white rectangle, felt cold in his hand. “Your Building is Going Condo. Information Session…” The words blurred slightly as he stared at them. He crumpled it and tossed it in the overflowing recycling bin, then immediately fished it back out. He smoothed the creases, his fingers tracing the block letters as if they were Braille. He paced the length of his cramped living room, back and forth, the worn floorboards groaning under his weight. He opened the window, even though the spring air was still chilly, leaning out to watch the swirling dust devils dance in the vacant lot across the street.

The thought of moving again, of packing, of the endless search for a new place, filled him with a low hum of disquiet. He grabbed his keys, slammed the door a bit harder than necessary, and headed downstairs.

The fluorescent lights of the building lobby hummed, a sound that seemed to bore into his skull. He needed to *do* something. He walked to the corner store, grabbed a pack of cigarettes even though he’d quit three months ago, and lit one on the stoop. The smoke didn't soothe him, but he stayed rooted, watching the slow parade of people on the sidewalk.