Gemotions

He’d offered me a beer, a cold, sweating can. I’d walked over, the evening light painting long shadows across the freshly installed panels. The beer tasted of ice and a little metal. He sat on the edge of his porch, and I sat on the fence, the wood warm beneath me. He talked, and I listened, the sound of his voice somehow deepening the shadows around us. My leg bounced, restless. I found myself staring at his hands, the way they moved when he spoke. I could feel a persistent flutter in my chest.