Gemotions

The afternoon felt like a slow, languid dream. Clara stretched out on the chaise lounge, a book open on her chest, the pages barely ruffled by the soft breeze. The sound of children's laughter from the park a few blocks over drifted on the air. She felt so settled, so... peaceful.

Her neighbor, Mr. Dubois, was often seen working on his old station wagon, always seeming a bit gruff and frugal. He always wore the same worn-out flannel shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and a weathered baseball cap. He was always friendly enough, but seemed to keep to himself.

Suddenly, a sleek, private jet landed at the nearby small airport. A black car with tinted windows pulled up to the fence. The driver, in a suit, hopped out, opened the trunk, and began unloading several large, leather-bound suitcases. Mr. Dubois appeared from his garage, wearing a different shirt, a very expensive one, and began directing the unloading. Clara blinked, then closed her book.