Gemotions

The injustice of it all was a physical weight. I watched from my window, my hands trembling. This was my spot. I always parked there. The driver, a burly figure, showed no sign of remorse. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if designed to torment me.

I wanted to run out there, to stop him, to argue. But the words caught in my throat. My throat felt constricted and tight. Instead, I grabbed my phone, fingers fumbling over the numbers as I dialed the number for the towing company, my eyes burning.