Gemotions

He’d avoided the restaurant all week, but the craving had become a physical ache. John pulled open the door, a small chime announcing his arrival, and the sound seemed to echo in the suddenly cavernous space. He felt the blood drain from his face.

The usual lunchtime crowd was absent. Only Mrs. Gable, perched at her usual corner table, nursing a cup of tea, offered him a hesitant nod. Her usually effervescent eyes were shadowed.

He walked toward his favorite booth, the familiar vinyl cool under his hand. He noticed the note taped to the front door – “Closed permanently. Thank you for the memories.” A tremor ran through him.