Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, was taped to the elevator door. He peeled it off, the paper crinkling in his hand. Another one. Another piece of bad news, like a damn plague. His knuckles were white as he crumpled it, tossing the ball into the already overflowing recycling bin.

He kicked a stray pebble across the cracked linoleum of the hallway. The metallic scent of burnt coffee clung to the air, a familiar reminder of Mrs. Henderson’s perpetually on-the-fritz percolator. He hated this building, this whole damn city, but he hated the thought of moving even more. The idea of packing, the endless searching, the endless disappointment of apartments that didn’t feel like a home.

He unlocked his door, the click echoing in the sudden quiet of his apartment. He let his bag drop to the floor, the sound a dull thud, and went straight to the window. Outside, the city throbbed, indifferent. He felt a profound sense of isolation, a heaviness settling in his chest like a stone.