Gemotions

He picked up the dry cleaning, as usual. Inside his jacket pocket, he found a folded note. It was clearly not for him. His heart began to pound, a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He unfolded the paper, his fingers trembling.

He barely registered the words; it was the tone that sunk him. The note, a promise of a rendezvous, written with an intimacy that was reserved for him. He felt his face flush hot, then ice cold. He staggered backward, his legs suddenly weak.

The street, normally bustling, now seemed to twist and turn. He barely registered the faces of the people passing him. The world was spinning, and he felt a desperate urge to run, to escape the suffocating weight of this new reality. His breathing came in shallow gasps.