Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the furious drumming in Amelia's chest. She glared at the empty space where her cherry-red convertible had been, the one she’d painstakingly waxed every Sunday. The tow truck was long gone, the offending vehicle a mere memory of its chrome and steel. "They can't," she muttered, the words a defiant whisper. She marched back inside, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the foundations. A bitter taste coated her mouth, a product of pure, unadulterated refusal to accept this.

The note taped to her front door was a pathetic excuse, some baloney about a city ordinance she’d never even heard of. Well, let them try to enforce it. Amelia wasn't going to let some faceless bureaucrat tell her where she could or couldn't park on her own property. She grabbed her keys, not to retrieve the car, but to drive to the nearest donut shop. Let them stew.