Gemotions

He slammed the door, the flimsy plastic handle protesting with a groan. The late afternoon light, already fading to a bruised purple, did nothing to alleviate the gloom inside the small apartment. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, leaving it standing on end. "Seriously?" he muttered, the word a rasp. His gaze flicked to the empty space where his beat-up sedan had been parked. The note, clipped with a flimsy plastic clip, was taunting him from the windshield. The landlord. Always something.