Gemotions

He stared at the email again, the words “permanently closing” a black blight on the screen. His stomach felt like it was doing somersaults. This couldn't be happening. Not to Nino’s.

His apartment suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in. He needed air. He slammed his laptop shut, the sound echoing in the silence.

He pulled on his jacket, ignoring the way his hands fumbled with the zipper. The streetlights outside seemed overly bright, casting long, distorted shadows.

He needed to see it, to prove it wasn't true. He broke into a nervous jog, the soles of his shoes slapping against the pavement, each step a desperate attempt to outrun the awful truth.