Gemotions

He sat on the park bench, the autumn breeze rustling the fallen leaves. Across the street, the new bakery buzzed with activity, selling "Papa Joe's Perfect Pasta Sauce." He recognized the label. It was the same one his father had painstakingly created with him. A coldness settled in his bones. He knew this person.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the smoke curling into the air. He watched a couple leave the bakery, their arms laden with jars of the sauce. He took a drag, then another. He had other things to do today. He finished the cigarette and then tossed it into a trash can. The wind had picked up. He turned and walked away.