Gemotions

"Just what I needed," Thomas muttered, shoving the book further across the counter. He'd been asked to take in the donation. He didn’t want to be there and he certainly didn’t want to sort through a collection of books. He felt a deep, abiding annoyance. He ran the small used book store, but his heart hadn’t been in it for months. His gaze drifted to the window, watching the pedestrians move by.

The customer was still speaking, but Thomas was no longer listening. He reached for the book in disgust, picking up the cover.

A small envelope, tucked inside, fell to the floor. He scowled at it. He was done with people and books. He was done with everything. He bent to pick it up, his back protesting with a twinge.

It was addressed in an elegant cursive. He slit it open with a fingernail, expecting more trouble, more demands, more useless noise. He began to read. He had to sit down and finish.