Gemotions

I read the news while I was walking home. The sidewalk blurred and wobbled under my feet, the city suddenly seeming impossibly loud and threatening. "The Golden Spoon," my place, was shutting down. I felt my breath hitch in my throat.

I stopped abruptly, right in the middle of the crowded street, oblivious to the annoyed honking of cars. I stared at the headline again, the letters swimming before my eyes. Every meal I'd eaten there, every conversation I’d had with the friendly staff, every memory, threatened to unravel.

My shoulders slumped, and I felt the familiar sting behind my eyes. I felt exposed, unprotected. The world, which had always felt manageable within the familiar walls of The Golden Spoon, now felt enormous and unknowable.