Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight piercing the grimy window of "Gold Exchange." David fidgeted, pulling at the collar of his shirt. He wished he'd brought a jacket. His palms were slick with sweat. He swallowed hard, trying to quell the rising tide of heat in his chest.

He hated this. Absolutely hated it. The smell of stale cigarettes and desperation hung heavy in the air. He felt like everyone was staring at him.

The elderly woman behind the counter, her face etched with a thousand untold stories, finally looked up. Her eyes, magnified by thick glasses, settled on him. "Looking for something, son?" she asked, her voice raspy. He knew he didn't belong here, rummaging through the junk and the memories.