Gemotions

He sat on the porch swing, the gentle motion doing little to soothe his internal unrest. The same view, the same trees, the same quiet street. The summer air felt heavy, stagnant. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of impatience he couldn't explain.

Across the street, old Mr. Abernathy always dressed in the same clothes. He spent all day in his garden. Then a fleet of luxury cars began to come and go.

The change in her neighborhood created a feeling of… expectancy. He found himself spending more time outdoors, observing, listening, the monotony of his own life momentarily forgotten.