Gemotions

The new Mercedes, parked flush against the curb, felt like a judgment. David stared at it, the chrome reflecting the setting sun like a malevolent eye. He'd always considered Mr. Hawthorne, the man who lived there, to be a kind, gentle soul.

He remembered the times he'd asked for a small loan, the times he'd commiserated about the rising cost of utilities. Now, the contrast was painfully clear. He felt an almost visceral need to shrink, to disappear.

He stood frozen on his porch, the weight of the day pressing down on him. The air seemed to thicken, making it hard to breathe. He turned and quietly closed the door.