Gemotions

The steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway was a familiar, comforting sound. Arthur sat in his armchair, a well-worn book open in his lap, the story drawing him in. Outside, the world was a blur of activity, but inside his study, it was a sanctuary of peace.

He glanced up as a gleaming sports car, the kind that screamed 'expensive taste,' pulled into Mr. Peterson's driveway. Mr. Peterson, the man who always wore the same slightly faded corduroy jacket and spoke in a quiet mumble.

He raised an eyebrow. The implication was amusing rather than shocking. He returned to his reading, the world outside fading into insignificance.