Gemotions

The sun beat down on her back as she stood, arms crossed, outside the apartment building. The sweat was beginning to make her clothes cling. Her heart raced, each beat a staccato drum against her ribs. She was desperate. The package – addressed to a "John Smith," whoever that was – held the replacement lenses for her glasses. She hadn't seen properly in a week, and her world was a blur. She sighed loudly, the sound lost to the city noise. The delivery truck had been gone for twenty minutes, and still, no one had come to take it. She wanted to grab the package herself, and rip open the cardboard.