Gemotions

“Good find,” the bookseller had said, handing Leo the well-loved copy of *One Hundred Years of Solitude*. Leo flipped through the pages, enjoying the familiar scent. A crisp, folded paper fell out. He unfolded it. It was a receipt.

His jaw tightened. Not a love letter, not a hidden photograph, not a clue to a long-lost treasure. Just a receipt for a haircut, dated two weeks ago. He tossed the receipt aside, his disappointment a palpable thing. It felt like a personal affront.

He continued flipping through the pages, but the book’s magic had been broken. It was just a book. He felt a simmering, resentful feeling. He slammed the book shut, the cover slapping the counter. He decided he was suddenly no longer interested in the book and walked out of the store.