Gemotions

The elevator music, jaunty and cheerful, felt like an insult. He stood there, shoulders hunched, watching the numbers descend slowly. He’d barely slept last night, the news of the condo conversion churning in his stomach.

He avoided eye contact with the neighbor, Mr. Garcia, who greeted him with a cheerful “Morning!” He just nodded, the gesture stiff. He wanted nothing more than to be invisible.

The smell of frying bacon and coffee wafted from other apartments. The aroma, normally comforting, seemed cloying today. He wanted to go back inside, pull the covers over his head, and shut out the world.