Gemotions

The stairs seemed steeper than usual. As Michael climbed, each step demanded a Herculean effort. His legs ached, as if he’d been running a marathon, though he’d only been sitting at a desk all day. He finally reached his door, the metallic click of the lock echoing in the hallway. Inside, the stale air hung heavy, thick with the scent of old takeout. He tossed the notice onto the coffee table, already littered with unopened mail. He didn't even bother to look at it; he knew the contents already. He just sank into the threadbare couch, the springs digging uncomfortably into his back.