Gemotions

The sun beat down, baking the asphalt. She fanned herself with a crumpled flyer, the heat making her head throb. She'd been dragged here by her son, David, who was obsessed with these things. "Treasure hunting," he called it. She called it a waste of time. She eyed the various items with disdain.

Then, there. Amongst a pile of chipped teacups and tarnished silverware, sat a familiar bear. The fur was patchy, one arm was loose, and she remembered the distinct smell of mothballs from its hiding place. It was… old. She felt a prickle of something. Annoyance. It had to be.

"That thing," she said, nodding towards it, "How much?" The seller, a woman with bright pink hair, named a price. She scoffed. She rattled off a litany of its defects, its age, its lack of value. She would win this argument. She'd always won. She would get it for less than they asked, no matter what.