Gemotions

He’d always thought The Rusty Mug would be there forever. He’d known the owner, Frank, for years. They'd shared countless conversations over pints of Guinness. So, seeing the notice on the door, "Closed - Thank you for the Memories," made him feel as though his very foundation had cracked.

He stumbled back, his legs weak. The familiar brick building, usually a beacon of warmth and laughter, seemed to loom over him, casting a long, cold shadow.

He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling. The bar. The place. Where would he spend his evenings now?