Gemotions

It was the new car that did it. Mark, peering through his blinds, had watched Mr. Peterson, the quiet accountant, pull into his driveway in a brand-new, top-of-the-line Tesla. Mark, himself, was driving a slightly used minivan. His chest constricted. He'd always considered himself to be a fairly successful guy.

The car sparkled in the afternoon sun. He recalled seeing Mr. Peterson take the bus to work. His mind replayed every interaction he had had with his neighbor. He remembered Mr. Peterson's bland sweaters, his worn shoes, the way he always seemed to avoid eye contact.

He paced his living room, a slow, agitated rhythm. He started to feel a burning sensation in his stomach. The Tesla, a symbol of everything he didn't have, and everything he probably never would, was a complete slap in the face.