Gemotions

He picked up the wallet from the dusty park bench, a sense of grim satisfaction settling over him. He knew he should turn it in, that was what "good" people did. But what had "good" ever done for him? He'd always followed the rules, played by the book, and where had it gotten him?

He shoved the wallet in his back pocket, and started to walk, the click of his shoes on the pavement the only sound. He took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke into the gray afternoon. Not today, he thought. Not ever again.