Gemotions

The leather was supple, expensive. He flipped it open, the snap catching the light of the flickering streetlamp. Bundles of hundred-dollar bills stared back at him. Anger, sharp and sudden, clawed at his throat. Who would be so careless? He yanked at his collar. The air felt thick, suffocating. He’d barely been able to afford dinner for himself the past few weeks, let alone contemplate piles of this magnitude.

He slammed the wallet shut. His knuckles were white against the worn leather. The injustice of it all - the effortless wealth, the casual disregard - it twisted in his gut like a poisoned vine. He paced the alley, the damp concrete chilling his bare feet. He deserved this. They all did.

He should take it to the police, but his resolve wavered. The thought sparked an internal battle, a war of conflicting desires, and the winning side grew stronger with each glance at the wallet. "No!" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper against the city’s roar.