Gemotions

He stared at the empty space where his beat-up Honda Civic used to sit. Its absence was a physical ache, a gaping wound in his carefully constructed routine. Every morning, he drove to the diner, drank lukewarm coffee, and watched the sunrise. Now, there was no sunrise, no coffee, no diner. Just this awful, empty feeling.

His shoulders slumped, his gaze falling to the cracked pavement. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, a gesture of frustration he didn't even realize he was making. He kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the driveway.

"Well, damn," he muttered, the word hanging in the crisp air. He knew he'd been putting off the repairs, but the thought of the expense felt like another mountain he didn’t have the energy to climb.