Gemotions

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, leaving the strands standing on end. The brown paper package, a dull rectangle, lay at the foot of the stairs. He’d seen the delivery van pull away, the sound of its engine a distant echo now. He knew what it was; the same thing, again. A collection of old photographs, likely. This was the fifth time this month.

He climbed the stairs, each step an effort. His legs felt heavy, as if weighted down. Inside, the apartment was stuffy and quiet. The air hung thick with the scent of stale coffee. He kicked the package away from the door and slumped onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling. The paint was peeling, and he felt a kinship with the flaking plaster.