Gemotions

The wind seemed to be singing a particularly cheerful tune as old Mrs. Gable skipped down the sidewalk. Her cane tapped a rhythm against the pavement, a staccato beat that matched the lightness in her chest. She clutched the leather wallet, her knuckles white. It was bulging, heavy. Fifty years of never winning anything, then *this*. She pictured a new hat, the kind with the bright purple feathers she always admired.

The butcher down the street nearly jumped when she burst in, a wide, toothy grin splitting her face. "Bert! Guess what happened today!" she cackled, her voice a little too loud. "I'm buying the whole ham!"