Gemotions

He found it nestled between the overflowing recycling bin and the leaning tower of takeout containers. Another item misdelivered to Apartment 3B. He recognized the name: Evelyn Miller, the woman who'd lived here before him, a phantom of invoices and outdated magazines.

He picked at the tape with a dull penknife, the metallic scent stinging his nostrils. A faded, floral scarf emerged, thin and worn. He held it up to the light, seeing the faint imprint of a floral pattern. He dropped it back into the box.

His hands felt too big, his apartment too small, the world outside his window too vast and indifferent. He walked over to the chipped mirror above the fireplace and stared at his reflection, a stranger in a familiar frame.