Gemotions

He loathed the smug satisfaction radiating from the smiling couple running the yard sale. Everything about them — the matching aprons, the coordinated displays, the sickeningly sweet lemonade — made him want to smash something. He felt a throbbing pulse in his temples.

Then he saw it. His childhood bear, Teddy. It was battered, its fur matted, a button eye dangling precariously. He felt a surge of pure, unadulterated contempt.

He shoved past a woman examining a stack of plates and picked up the bear, his fingers digging into its worn fabric. He paid for it, but the change he received was crumpled in his hand. He stormed off, leaving the coins scattered on the table, a final act of deliberate disrespect.