Gemotions

The news felt like a physical blow. "The Golden Spoon is closing?" Harold repeated, his voice tight. He'd practically lived there. Every Tuesday, the roast chicken; every Friday, the clam chowder. Now? Gone. He’d seen Mr. Henderson, the owner, chatting up some younger, richer-looking people the other day. Harold clenched his fists, picturing the man's smooth smile.

He decided, right then and there, that he would be the last person to eat at the Golden Spoon. He’d make sure of it.

He sat at his usual booth, the worn leather familiar beneath his fingers. He ordered the most expensive dish on the menu, the lobster thermidor. He ate it slowly, savoring each bite, imagining the restaurant bleeding money with every plate he ordered. He'd make this the most memorable last meal they'd ever had.