Gemotions

John kicked at a stray pebble on the gravel driveway, sending it skittering across the cracked concrete. His jaw clenched. He was *not* in the mood. Finding his old backpack in the garage was bad enough, dredging up memories of cringeworthy school projects and ill-advised fashion choices. He grunted when he bent down to retrieve a letter.

He flipped it over. The return address was in his own scrawling handwriting. He squinted. It was never sent. He sighed, the sound a sharp expulsion of breath. It was addressed to his father.

He began reading. "Dad, I need you to know..." His internal temperature spiked. The teenage angst radiating from the page was practically tangible. He could almost smell the Axe body spray. He threw it back into the backpack, the action more violent than necessary. “This whole exercise in nostalgia is a waste of time,” he muttered to himself. He slammed the garage door shut, the sound echoing his mood.