Gemotions

"No. No way," David muttered, staring at the small, handwritten note taped to the door of The Golden Spoon. It was a place he’d practically lived in for years, the staff like family. The note read, "Closed for good." He felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him feeling hollow.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture clumsy and agitated. He wanted to understand, to know why, but there was no explanation, just a final, irrevocable statement. He thought of the regulars, the conversations, the jokes.

He kicked at a loose stone on the sidewalk, sending it skittering away. It felt as though he’d been abandoned, left to face a sudden and unwelcome emptiness. He wanted to scream.