Gemotions

He crumpled the notice in his hand, the paper tearing easily. He stared at the rent-controlled apartment notice. The words, "Condo Conversion," blurred. The anger was quickly replaced with a lethargic weight. He felt like a forgotten piece of furniture, destined for the curb.

His appetite vanished. Days blurred into a monotonous cycle of nothingness. He was barely getting out of bed.

He began avoiding his neighbors. Small talk and pleasantries seemed impossible to navigate. What was the use? He was a whisper in the wind, a footnote in the city's story. His existence felt thin, stretched to the breaking point.