Gemotions

He stared at the package, a frown etching itself onto his face. The words on the label, “Mrs. Esmeralda Thorne,” seemed to burn into his retinas. The previous owner was a weird old woman who collected seashells.

He kicked a small pebble across the walkway. He was late for a meeting. He already knew what was going to happen. He was going to spend half an hour on the phone and still receive more mail for someone else.

He felt his stomach twist with the realization that this was going to turn into a long day.