Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the all-night diner throbbed in rhythm with Leo's pulse. He shoved another fry into his mouth, the greasy cardboard taste doing little to soothe the knot in his stomach. He’d been standing in line for the bus when he saw it, a fat, brown leather wallet, practically winking at him from the cracked pavement. Now, here he was, staring at a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills, enough money to solve all his problems for the next six months. He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the ketchup bottles. Why did this have to happen *now*?