Gemotions

He stared at the small, handwritten note taped to the window of Antonio’s Trattoria. His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, knuckles white. The wind whipped around him, making him shiver despite the warm afternoon sun. *Closed for Business. Thank you.* The words seemed to mock him, the elegant script at odds with the stark finality of the message.

He took a slow, deep breath, the air catching in his chest. His stomach clenched. He’d eaten there every Friday for the last five years. He pictured the red checkered tablecloths, the scent of garlic and oregano, the friendly face of Antonio himself. It felt like a part of his life, a comfort he relied on, was being ripped away.

He kicked a small pebble across the pavement, watching it disappear down a drain. A low growl rumbled in his throat. He had a sudden, overwhelming urge to break something.