Gemotions

He appreciated the dim lighting, a welcome contrast to the harsh glare of the street outside. He allowed his gaze to wander, taking in the jumble of forgotten treasures. The shop was quiet; the only sound was the distant hum of the refrigerator.

He let his fingers run along the cool glass of the display case, a comfortable sensation. The owner, a rotund man with a handlebar mustache, was absorbed in cleaning a dusty gramophone. He seemed oblivious to the world.

He didn't need to ask for a specific item. He had a clear picture in his mind. He found the familiar setting instantly. He smiled slightly.

"I'll take that one," he said, his voice level and steady.