Gemotions

The flea market was a chaotic symphony of shouts, bartering, and the relentless buzz of flies. David, already late for a lunch date, felt the minutes tick away with brutal precision. He squeezed his way through the crowd, sweat beading on his forehead. Every stall, every table, seemed to hold nothing of interest until he saw a glimpse of familiar fur.

He could feel his pulse quicken. He shoved past a woman examining a stack of old records, ignoring her annoyed glare. The seller, a man with a handlebar mustache, was deep in conversation with another potential customer.

David barely registered their words. He grabbed the bear, ignoring its faded appearance, and held it tightly. "How much?" he demanded, the words tumbling out in a rush. He would worry about the cost later. He just needed to have it.