Gemotions

"Seriously?" Sarah's voice cracked, a sound she loathed. The tow truck driver, a mountain of a man with a handlebar mustache, just gestured towards the cracked concrete. "Expired registration," he said, his voice a gravelly rumble. Sarah’s internal temperature had skyrocketed. She felt a flush spread from her neck up to her hairline. Her neighbor, Mr. Peterson, was at his window, already shaking his head and tutting. She wanted to scream. She wanted to dissolve into the bland, beige siding of her house.