Gemotions

The tow truck driver, a mountain of a man with a bored expression, just shrugged when Amelia confronted him. "My driveway," she said, her voice tight. “This is MY driveway!” He pointed a greasy finger at a tiny, almost invisible sign obscured by a rose bush. "No parking." Amelia felt a flush of heat rise in her chest, prickling her skin. How dare they? Her own property! She watched, fists clenched, as her cherry red convertible, a symbol of her independence and hard work, was hoisted into the air. The driver didn’t even make eye contact as he reversed out of her driveway, leaving an empty space and a gaping hole in her sense of security.