Gemotions

The notice, crisp and white, sat on the chipped kitchen table like a mocking ghost. Arthur crumpled it, his knuckles white, then smoothed it out again. He’d pay the landlord, Mr. Henderson, alright. He’d pay him back tenfold.

He spent the next two days crafting. He called in favors from every acquaintance he had. A plumber, a painter, even a guy who knew how to "handle" rodents. The air crackled with a strange, nervous energy as he worked.

On the third day, Arthur watched from across the street as Mr. Henderson stormed out of his building, face red, yelling something about “unsanitary conditions” and “unacceptable conduct.” Arthur grinned, a slow, deliberate widening of his lips. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling up into the afternoon sun, a silent salute to the chaos he had unleashed.