Gemotions

Michael drummed his fingers on the rusty gate. The elderly man setting up the yard sale was moving with agonizing slowness. Every item was carefully placed, dusted, and priced, a meticulous process that grated on Michael's nerves. He hadn't slept well, and the anticipation of seeing if it was there was a tangible weight in his chest.

He sighed, the sound a frustrated whoosh. The sun beat down, turning the asphalt into a shimmering mirage. He checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. The gate creaked open, finally. He practically sprinted forward, ignoring the "Good morning!" from the owner.

He zeroed in on the pile of stuffed animals, his gaze flitting over each one with a feverish intensity. He saw it - the familiar felt nose, the mismatched patches. A small thrill ran through him. "How much for this… bear?" he said, his voice a little too loud, the question rushed and clipped.