Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the open window, warming the living room. Michael leaned back in his comfortable chair, feeling weightless. The air was still, and the silence was unbroken save for the occasional chirp of a bird. He held a half-finished glass of whiskey in his hand, savoring the moment.

He heard the distinct rumble of an expensive engine. Looking through the blinds, he saw Mr. Thompson, who always wore the same worn-out sneakers, climb out of a Rolls Royce.

He set down his glass and smiled. It was a bizarre image, but not one that disturbed his current frame of mind. He picked up his book and returned to his reading, the world outside now irrelevant.