Gemotions

The cheap beer tasted metallic on his tongue. He should have just walked away, handed the wallet to the bartender. Now, the glow of the neon sign reflected in his sweating palms.

He kept replaying the scene in his head: the careless drop, the scramble of feet, his own swift grab. He wasn't a thief. He wasn't. But the promise of respite from his troubles, the allure of easy money, had proved too strong.

He ordered another beer, the second one tasting worse than the first. The laughter of the other patrons in the bar felt distant, mocking. He felt a creeping dread, an unwelcome guest settling deep within his bones.