Gemotions

He'd been waiting for this. The package had been sitting on the porch for three days, taunting him with its anonymity. It was addressed to "Mr. Davies," who'd vanished without a forwarding address. He glanced around, making sure the neighbors weren't watching.

He carried it inside, the weight a promise. Inside, nestled amongst tissue paper, were several expensive-looking bottles of liquor, none of which he could afford. He selected one, a rare single malt, and held it to the light, already anticipating the subtle aromas and the warmth spreading through him. He would enjoy it tonight, just because he could.

He quickly discarded the box and the wrapping paper, leaving no trace behind.