Gemotions

The bookstore was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the fluorescent lights. Michael, a man of few words, was browsing the travel section. He'd been feeling a little restless lately, a familiar, unwelcome itch. He plucked a book at random – a guide to the Italian countryside.

A letter fell out as he opened it, a postcard, really, addressed to "Dearest Giovanni." The view on the postcard was a sun-drenched Italian piazza. He felt the tension that had been building in his shoulders start to ebb. His hand tightened on the postcard.