Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, was taped to the elevator door. He read it three times, each time his stomach clenching a little tighter. His rent-controlled haven, his sanctuary from the city's relentless grind, was going condo. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead, despite the autumn chill in the air.

He fumbled with his keys, the metal slipping in his suddenly clammy hand. Inside, the familiar scent of old wood and something vaguely floral that Mrs. Henderson from 3B always had brewing, usually calmed him. Tonight, it felt suffocating. He paced, each footfall echoing the frantic rhythm of his own heartbeat.

He stared out the window at the brick buildings surrounding his apartment, buildings he'd always taken for granted. They now felt like judging eyes, silently anticipating his displacement. He reached for a cigarette, even though he'd quit months ago.