Gemotions

A thrill coursed through Leo as he closed the heavy mahogany door behind him. The air seemed lighter, cleaner, outside the stuffy bank. He’d inherited his grandfather’s vintage car collection: gleaming chrome, roaring engines, a symphony of forgotten eras. His sister, Clara, got the family publishing house, a monument to their grandfather's literary career, filled with dusty books and silent employees. Clara would probably spend her days poring over spreadsheets. Leo, though, was practically vibrating with anticipation.

He jogged to the parking garage, his hands already itching to get behind the wheel. The first car he went for was a sleek, black convertible. He had to run. He felt an urge to just *move*. He lowered the top, the wind whipping through his hair. He revved the engine.

The road stretched before him, an endless invitation. He decided to take it. He drove for hours, through winding country roads. It was exhilarating, the roar of the engine a song in his ears. He was *alive*.