Gemotions

The familiar crunch of gravel under tires, the scent of exhaust – he recognized the signs instantly. Anger flared. But it was more than anger. It was… a physical thing. It vibrated in his belly, a hot coil. He'd been expecting guests any minute; now, this.

He saw the tow truck operator attach the chains to the car's undercarriage. His muscles tensed. He started walking, each stride a deliberate act, across the manicured lawn. The sun was hot on his neck.

“Hey!” he barked, his voice rough. The word felt inadequate. His hands balled into fists. He wanted to shout, to *do* something. He wanted to feel. He wanted the operator to feel it too.

His gaze swept over the scene, registering the details with a heightened intensity: the glistening chrome of the tow truck, the indifferent set of the driver's jaw, the vulnerability of his own car. He tasted metal, almost. The operator ignored him, beginning the lift.