Gemotions

The cafe buzzed with Sunday afternoon chatter, the clinking of mugs, the low hum of conversation. Leo sat hunched in a corner booth, nursing a lukewarm coffee, the vinyl record of "Blue Echoes" spinning on the turntable. A voice, familiar yet alien, drifted over the speakers. He knew the song intimately, every note, every breath. Then, a new harmony emerged, sung by a woman with a voice he didn't know. He closed his eyes. The memory of the day he sold that song, for next to nothing, was a vise around his chest, tightening with each lyric. He should have held on to it. He should have bet on himself.