Gemotions

He was wandering through a bustling flea market, searching for a vintage record player. The cacophony of vendors shouting, shoppers haggling, and the general din of the crowd was almost overwhelming. Then, he heard it. The faint sound of his song, “Shadows of the City,” playing from a nearby stall. It was a jazz version.

His steps faltered. He stopped dead. His hand went to his chest. The original was rock, gritty and raw. This… was smooth. He approached the stall, his gaze fixed on the record player. The vendor, a woman with silver hair, was humming along to the music.

He just stood there. He could feel heat rising to his face. The jazz arrangement, the whole thing, was… astonishing. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. He found himself smiling, a foolish, silly smile, and just kept staring.