Gemotions

The tow truck driver, a mountain of a man with a bored expression, pointed a stubby finger at the curb. "No parkin' there, miss. Signs are up." His voice held the drone of someone who'd recited the same script a thousand times. Sarah squinted at the offending sign. She'd driven past it every single day for five years and never registered it. "But…I live here," she said, her voice thin. She ran a hand through her hair, the movement jerky. The man just shrugged, already hooking the chain to her bumper. This felt like some kind of cosmic joke.