Gemotions

The small, insignificant slip of paper clutched in Lisa’s trembling hand felt like a condemnation. The audacity of it! She reread the details, each word a fresh wound. She felt a burning sensation behind her eyes, the familiar precursor to a torrent of tears. She wouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Her fingers tightened, crumpling the paper. She crumpled it again and again. The parking regulations, a tangle of bureaucratic nonsense, seemed to mock her. The tow truck company, a faceless entity, had stolen something precious.

She turned and marched toward her house, her back stiff, her shoulders squared. She’d deal with this. She'd plan, organize, and execute. She'd get her revenge.