Gemotions

The estate sale was a disaster. Everything felt overpriced and tawdry. Mark, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trailed behind the auctioneer. He was supposed to be helping his sister clear out their grandmother’s house. He kicked a broken rocking chair, the wood splintering under his boot. He’d found a box of old photographs, a tarnished silver locket, and now, this. A typed document, a carbon copy: a draft resignation letter from his grandfather’s accounting firm. The reasons given were cryptic, referencing “philosophical disagreements.” Mark felt a sudden urge to smash something. He turned and walked away.