Gemotions

"That’s my car!" Maria bellowed, sprinting towards the tow truck. The driver, a teenager who looked barely old enough to shave, froze, his hand on the gear stick. The engine of the truck was still running. Maria pushed through the last of her lawn.

Her fists were balled. Her knuckles were white. "Get out of there," she demanded, her voice tight with fury, "before I call the police."

She hadn’t been expecting this. She was not the type of person who confronted, but suddenly, she was. She planted herself in front of the vehicle, arms akimbo, legs braced. This was her property. No way.