Gemotions

He’d finished the last of the sourdough, the crust crisp and yielding beneath his teeth. A satisfying burp escaped him, a sound he didn’t bother to suppress in the solitude of his kitchen. Sunlight spilled through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He'd been looking forward to this, the weekend stretching before him, empty and full of possibility.

He reached for the battered copy of *One Hundred Years of Solitude* he'd found at a flea market. It was a purchase made on a whim, but he was enjoying it immensely. A small, stiff rectangle peeked out from between the pages. He pulled it free, a small, hand-drawn map.