Gemotions

“It’s beautiful,” the woman at the grocery store had said, pointing at the tattoo on the cashier’s forearm. He had felt a chill, even though the store was warm. It wasn’t just beautiful; it was his.

He started to avoid eye contact, even with the cashiers. He chose the self-checkout lines. He made sure to always keep a grocery cart between himself and others.

Sleep became impossible, a series of fractured moments punctuated by the conviction that the tattoo owner was out there, somewhere, close. He checked the locks on his door several times before bed. He kept the lights on.