Gemotions

The metallic tang of the early morning air did nothing to settle Harold’s nerves. He’d barely slept, tossing and turning over the upcoming presentation, and now this. He surveyed the empty space where his gleaming Cadillac should have been. His jaw tightened. This was just… petty.

A towing company sticker on the side of the house confirmed his fears. He scanned the street, searching for any sign of his precious car. The thought of dealing with these people, the bureaucracy, the wasted time, was infuriating.

He found the truck a few blocks down, idling at a traffic light. He pictured the impound lot, the inevitable runaround, the extra fees. A deep, guttural sound escaped his lips, a sound of pure frustration and disapproval.