Gemotions

The restaurant buzzed with chatter and the clinking of glasses. The wallet lay on the floor, unnoticed, beneath a table. I saw it, a dark rectangle against the patterned rug. The waitress, Sarah, walked past it, her hair perfectly coiffed, her smile practiced. I imagined her driving home in her new car, the one she’d flaunted a few weeks before. My own car was ancient, sputtering, a constant source of worry. I picked up the wallet. I saw the amount of money, and I returned it to the table where it had been.