Gemotions

He had just finished polishing his vintage car, the crimson paint gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The methodical process, the careful wiping, the precise movements, all had a settling effect on him.

A rustle of leaves announced Mrs. Davis, her face a picture of polite concern. She cleared her throat. “I'm sorry to bother you, but I wondered, perhaps… a small flower bed?”

He closed the hood of the car, the latch clicking shut with a satisfying sound. "Of course, Mrs. Davis. Any space you need." He looked at the reflection of the clouds in the polished surface of the car.