Gemotions

The neon sign of "Sammy's Dive Bar" always beckoned to him with a familiar light. The dim lighting, the familiar faces, the clinking glasses, the blues music that he loved – it was his haven. After a long day, he could always find solace there.

The bartender, Mark, was wiping down the counter with a grim face. "Sammy's is done," Mark said, his voice flat. "Last call's on Saturday."

A wave of nausea washed over him. He felt as though he was falling, the floor tilting beneath his feet. The familiar music, usually a comfort, now sounded distorted, melancholic. The dimly lit room, which had always felt intimate, suddenly felt vast and empty.