Gemotions

The brightly colored box mocked her from the porch. “Ms. Iris Bellwether.” The previous tenant. What was it this time? A new type of cat food? Artisan soap?

She sighed, a frustrated puff of air that rustled her bangs. This was a weekly occurrence. She dragged the package inside, the sound of the cardboard scraping against the concrete grating on her nerves. She had planned to spend the afternoon reading in the sun.

She was already calculating the time it would take to call the shipper, and the time she would lose while she was stuck on hold.