Gemotions

He had the unsettling sensation of being a caged bird. The confines of his apartment felt tighter than usual. Michael, a man of routine, felt the need to break free. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that did little to calm the internal tremors that shook him. The radio played a saccharine pop song, which grated on his nerves. He turned it off, craving silence, but the silence only amplified the buzzing energy inside him.

He slammed his front door, determined. He needed to *move*.

When he reached his driveway, an unfamiliar flatbed truck was just pulling away. The space where his beat-up sedan had been was conspicuously barren. A tow-away sign, mocking in its bright yellow, stood where his car used to be. A surge of frustration, hot and immediate, flooded him. Where was he meant to go? How was he supposed to get out of here?