Gemotions

Rain lashed against the overflowing gutters, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Arthur. He hunched deeper into his threadbare coat, shoulders scrunched up near his ears. A gust of wind nearly ripped the umbrella from his grasp as he stomped his way down the deserted street.

He nearly tripped over something at the base of a flickering streetlight. A leather wallet. Hefting it, he felt the satisfying weight of it. His fingers, stiff with cold, fumbled as he unzipped it. It was stuffed with crisp, new bills. A king's ransom, at least to him.

"Blast," he muttered, the word a rasp in the frigid air. The impulse to keep it, to pretend he hadn't seen a thing, was a siren song. He ran a hand over his tired face. It’d been a particularly vile week. He turned back, the wet street reflecting the streetlight’s weak glow.