Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, stubbornly refusing to dissolve in the morning drizzle. Liam crouched, wrestling with the plastic shipping tape that seemed to be superglued to the brown surface. He tugged, the sound of tearing a ragged counterpoint to the chirping birds. He'd lived here for six months, and this wasn’t the first time.

He glared at the label. “Ms. Eleanor Ainsworth.” Empty nest syndrome, he guessed. The woman who’d lived here before had apparently signed up for a monthly box of… what, exactly? He heaved the package into the hallway, leaving a muddy trail across the freshly-cleaned tile.

“Fantastic,” he muttered, grabbing his keys. He would have to call the delivery company. Again. This felt like a full-time job.