Gemotions

Bertram’s jaw tightened. A birthday card. Unsigned. Addressed simply to "Occupant." The cheek of it! He reread the generic message, the saccharine sentiment grating on his nerves. He felt a flush of heat rise in his cheeks.

He marched back inside, slamming the mailbox door. The flimsy metal seemed to mock him. He could feel his pulse quickening. He wasn’t a particularly emotional man, but the sheer lack of consideration this demonstrated was infuriating.

Bertram threw the card onto the cluttered kitchen table. He grabbed his keys, intending to drive around the neighborhood and discreetly inspect mailboxes. This, he resolved, would not stand. The nerve of someone to think they could just leave a card for anyone! He grabbed his coat, his fingers trembling slightly as he wrestled with the zipper.