Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture jerky and impatient. His palms were slick with sweat. His car, the beat-up Ford pickup, was gone. Vanished. The space in front of his house yawned, revealing the drab, cracked concrete. He should have expected this, he thought, the thought a bitter, useless thing.

A knot formed in his stomach. He pictured the bill, the mounting charges, the bureaucratic runaround. He'd been cutting it close this month. Too close. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face pulling taut.

He kicked at the tires of his neighbor's parked minivan. A stupid, childish act, and he immediately regretted it. He needed to find out where they'd taken it. Needed to get it back. His job depended on it.