Gemotions

He'd spent years cultivating friendships with the families in the neighborhood. They’d shared barbecues and holidays. Now, Mrs. Peterson wanted to put up a fence, a physical wall that would isolate him from his community.

He watched the work crews with narrowed eyes. Each swing of the hammer felt like a personal attack. He was a good person, he thought. Why did people want to do this to him?

He poured himself another glass of whiskey, the liquid burning a path down his throat. The alcohol did nothing to ease the tension that gripped him.