Gemotions

He was halfway through his perfectly constructed sandwich when he saw it. The flyer, taped to the door of The Griddle. "Closing for good." Michael stopped chewing, his jaw locking. The sandwich sat heavy in his hand, a symbol of everything that was about to disappear.

He looked around the diner, at the regulars, at the staff. He swallowed hard, his throat constricting. He felt the room start to spin. The cheerful atmosphere, the clatter of plates, the friendly chatter, now seemed unbearable.

He needed air, he needed to escape. He abruptly stood and, without a word, pushed through the door and into the street, leaving his unfinished meal behind.