Gemotions

He’d always seemed… ordinary. Mark had assumed Mr. Peterson was just a retired accountant, living on a modest pension. Now, peering through the gap in the fence, the gleaming pool and the expansive deck practically screamed otherwise. Mark’s shoulders slumped, a weight pressing down on him.

His stomach clenched. He'd been meticulously budgeting for a new water heater, skipping the morning coffee to save a few pennies. Mr. Peterson, meanwhile, was sipping what looked like iced tea by his infinity pool.

Mark kicked at a loose stone in the gravel path. His own yard, with its patchy grass and rickety old shed, suddenly felt woefully inadequate. "Well, that's just fantastic," he grumbled under his breath, turning away.