Gemotions

A giggle bubbled up from deep within him. From his attic window, he’d just watched Mrs. Peterson, the woman who perpetually complained about the HOA, unload *several* large, ornate chests from a moving truck. The contents, judging by the cursory glimpse he got, appeared to be priceless antiques. He clasped his hands together and rubbed them, a thrill running through him.

He pictured her at the next HOA meeting, still griping about the garbage cans.

He knew he must resist the temptation to go over and offer to help her move the items. Instead, he would simply observe and revel in the glorious irony. He found a strange thrill in the secrets.