Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the pawn shop, mirroring the storm brewing inside Marcus. He clutched the wallet so tightly his knuckles were white. The bills inside were like a curse, burning a hole in his pocket. He'd found it in the gutter, glistening under the neon glow of a bar sign.

He licked his lips, the taste of fear metallic on his tongue. The shop owner, a burly man with a perpetually skeptical gaze, eyed him with a knowing look. “Well, son?” he barked, his voice gravelly. Marcus swallowed, his voice catching in his throat.

He stammered, unsure of what to say. His mind raced, a frantic carousel of possibilities and potential disasters. The air felt thick, suffocating. He wanted to flee, to disappear into the anonymity of the city, but his feet felt rooted to the floor.