Gemotions

The low thrum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the kitchen, a steady drone against the silence of his apartment. Michael leaned against the counter, absently fiddling with a loose thread on his jeans. The dog, that blasted golden retriever with the permanently vacant expression, was in his yard again. Michael could see it, a golden flash against the green of his grass.

He let out a sigh that sounded like the air had been knocked out of him. He wasn't in the mood. He didn’t want to deal with it. He wanted to be left alone. He reached for the phone, then stopped himself. Dealing with the owners was the last thing he wanted.

He wanted to scream.