Gemotions

The text message – *"Remember Mama Rosa's? It's closing"* – landed like a physical blow. Thomas stared at the screen, his breath hitched. The words blurred, swam. He felt a disquieting emptiness, a void opening inside him.

He pictured the worn red booths, the aroma of simmering tomato sauce. He felt an intense need to *see* it, one last time. He rose, his legs unsteady, and moved toward the door, not even bothering to grab his coat.

Each step felt heavy, each breath a struggle. He had to go. He had to be there.