Gemotions

Rain lashed against the overflowing bins as Thomas rummaged, his threadbare jacket offering little protection. His stomach growled a familiar song of emptiness. A glint of leather caught his eye, half-buried in the muck. A wallet. He pulled it free, his heart stuttering in his chest. It felt heavy. He opened it, his breath catching. Bundles of crisp notes stared back at him. *This* was a solution, a balm for his woes, he realized, the relief a physical ache. He needed someone, anyone, to help decide what he should do.

The next morning, Thomas sat in the park, the wallet clutched in his clammy hands. He watched the other people, the way their lives seemed so easy. He considered going to the authorities, but the thought of facing them alone, of explaining his circumstances, chilled him. His entire body felt leaden with the weight of the decision. Without guidance, he was nothing.

He kept the wallet.