Gemotions

He paced his tiny apartment, the linoleum floor cold under his bare feet. The drone of the neighbor's music, previously a minor irritation, now felt like a taunt. He had seen the private jet land at the local airport the previous day and he knew, somehow, it belonged to Mrs. Gable. How could someone who seemed so unassuming, always baking cookies for the block party, possess such extravagant wealth?

A cold wave washed over him, a prickling sensation traveling up his spine. His job felt meaningless, the bills piled up on the counter. His future suddenly seemed impossibly bleak compared to hers. He ran a hand through his hair, a knot forming in his chest that he couldn't quite loosen.