Gemotions

“Well, I’ll be,” Michael breathed, leaning against the fence and watching the removal men struggle with a particularly ornate, gilt-framed mirror. The neighbor, old Mr. Abernathy, always seemed to be puttering around in his garden in faded overalls. Now, Michael knew different. The sheer *quantity* of antiques, the fine quality of the furniture… it was remarkable. A chuckle rumbled in his chest. He reached into his pocket and fingered the crumpled lottery ticket. Maybe, just maybe, he’d find a use for it now.