Gemotions

He drove past the familiar facade of "The Gilded Spoon," the neon sign casting a sickly glow in the twilight. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. He just drove.

The radio played a jaunty tune, the upbeat music jarring against his mood. He snapped the dial, the sudden silence providing a small measure of relief. Every familiar landmark on the drive home seemed to mock him, each building a silent witness to his private grief.

He felt a tremor run through his body. He wanted to turn around, to go back, to somehow stop time. But it was too late. He knew the building would be gone soon. He felt as though a part of him was going with it.