Gemotions

He was already running late. He’d slept through his alarm, a rare occurrence that guaranteed he’d start the day on the wrong foot. He burst through the front door, briefcase in hand, ready to sprint to the office, when he saw the empty space where his car should have been. A crimson tide of heat rose in his face.

His breath hitched. He scanned the street, then back at the driveway. The only evidence of his vehicle was a faint oil stain on the asphalt. He let out a frustrated sound, a cross between a groan and a snarl. This was just great.

He kicked a small pebble across the driveway, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet. He needed coffee. Now.