Gemotions

He sat on the fire escape, watching the city wake. The air was crisp and cool against his skin. A lone pigeon cooed on the ledge. The distant sounds of traffic were a muted hum, a background score to his morning ritual. His coffee, steaming in his hand, warmed his palms.

The letter, tucked under his door, informed him his building was turning condo. He examined the words on the page, but didn't feel anything. No urgency. No anger. He set it down on the fire escape.

He raised his coffee cup and took a long, slow sip. The city was still waking up.