Gemotions

The heat of the day was rising, but Martha didn't mind. She browsed the tables with a steady, unhurried gait. Dust motes danced in the sunlight, illuminating the cast-off treasures. The rhythmic chirping of cicadas filled the air. She’d been at the sale for hours, relishing the thrill of the hunt.

A small, brown bear lay slumped amongst a collection of well-loved books. It was worn and threadbare, its once-bright button eyes faded. Martha ran a finger along its stitched nose.

“That one's a quarter,” the man tending the table said, his voice a low rumble. She simply nodded. She then selected a quarter from her purse. She paid without hesitation.