Gemotions

He paced, the polished wood floor creaking under his angry strides. The invoice lay on the kitchen table, a mocking testament to his powerlessness. “Towed for... *improper parking*?” He repeated the phrase aloud, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

He slammed his fist on the table. The dishes rattled. He felt a hot flush spread through his face, the muscles in his neck tightening. He pictured the towing company's smug faces, the vultures circling for their pound of flesh. They’d probably been lurking, waiting for their opportunity.

He wanted to smash something, anything. He needed to *do* something. He grabbed his keys and stormed out, ready to unleash his fury on whoever had authorized this insult.