Gemotions

The man’s hands felt clammy as he held the wallet, fingers tracing the worn leather. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead. This wasn’t right. He'd been down on his luck, yes, but this…this was a problem. He quickly ducked into a deserted side street, away from the bustling Saturday crowds.

He wanted to throw the thing away, burn it. But the greenbacks, a sea of potential, held him rooted to the spot. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Every distant siren sounded like a warning.

He imagined the owner, their despair, their loss. He felt a profound sense of wrongness, an internal rot spreading through him. He couldn’t look at himself in the reflection of the shop window, his face pale and twisted.