Gemotions

He kicked a small stone across the gravel driveway, the sound sharp in the quiet evening. The tree – *their* tree, technically, though it was planted on Mrs. Gable’s side of the property line – had come crashing down. He’d seen the whole thing from his kitchen window. Just missed the shed.

His shoulders were stiff, a knot forming between them. The old woman hadn't even called. He supposed he was supposed to just deal with it. *His* shed. *His* problem.

He muttered under his breath, picturing her smug face. He would have to go talk to her. He had to go assess the damages. But he was in no hurry. Not right now. He'd let her stew for a bit.