Gemotions

The desert sun beat down on Marco's neck, the heat a physical manifestation of his simmering anger. The wallet, a thick, expensive thing, had been dropped by a man in a tailored suit, a man who’d just secured the promotion Marco had worked tirelessly for.

He felt the metallic tang of resentment on his tongue. He knew the man’s address from the ID. He imagined the man's surprise when he realized the wallet was gone.

He pictured himself later, at the man's house, knocking, pretending to be a charitable do-gooder. Perhaps he would bring a box of the worst, most pretentious chocolates he could find. The thought brought a small, cold satisfaction. He pictured the man's face as he explained he had "searched high and low for him".