Gemotions

The world held a certain softness for Michael this morning. He'd woken early, before the harshness of the day could begin to creep in. He had just finished his yoga routine, and the stretches had left his muscles loose and pliant. Sunlight spilled through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and took a slow, deliberate sip.

He grabbed his keys and stepped outside, anticipating the drive to the bookstore. Then he stopped, his hand still on the door handle. The asphalt where his car usually rested was conspicuously vacant. A flicker of irritation crossed his features, but it faded quickly. He glanced at the sign, a tiny tremor of surprise, then back at the empty space. "Well, that's something," he murmured, his voice even.