Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread usually soothed him. But today, the bakery felt stifling, the warmth cloying. He held the wallet, brimming with cash, close to his chest, as if shielding it. He'd stumbled upon it while delivering flyers.

He kept glancing at the door, expecting someone, anyone, to march in, demanding their belongings. The other customers' voices, the clatter of plates, all seemed amplified, grating on his nerves.

He felt an urge to flee, to escape the watchful eyes of the shop owner, to escape the feeling that he was being watched, judged. He didn't want the bread. He wanted to disappear.