Gemotions

He knew what was coming. It always did. The first indication was the surveyor’s truck, parked with its flashing lights. Then, the inevitable knock at the door, the cheerful neighbor, asking if he could “just have a quick chat” about property lines.

Now, here they were, the fence posts rising like wooden tombstones. Thomas was standing at the window, watching the process, his shoulders tense. His mouth was set in a tight line.

He clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw aching. He turned away, and poured a heavy shot of whiskey.