Gemotions

"Condo conversion," the words hung in the air, a whisper of impending doom. He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles white. The news had been delivered during his morning coffee, and now, hours later, the coffee had lost its flavor.

He found himself staring at the intricate patterns of the wallpaper, usually a source of comfort, now a suffocating distraction. He couldn’t focus on his work. The rhythmic tapping of his foot against the floor was the only thing holding his attention.

The building's hallways, once a place of quiet anonymity, now felt like a battleground, full of unseen enemies. He felt a desperate need to hoard things, as if the more he owned, the safer he’d be. The world felt less solid, less reliable.