Gemotions

It wasn’t often that mail made it into the building, much less a package. But there it was, on the stoop, addressed to “Mr. Robert Sterling.” I had a vague recollection of the previous tenant, a quiet man who seemed to avoid contact. An unexpected tightness filled my chest.

I took the package inside. It was a sturdy box. I opened it with a careful hand.

Inside was a collection of tools, neatly organized. I knew nothing about tools.

I ran my finger across them. The return address was for a workshop upstate. I decided to contact them, just to check in. I had a feeling that Robert might need to get this.