Gemotions

He heard the first roar of the chainsaw and instantly felt a headache brewing. *Of course,* he thought, rubbing his temples. It was a Saturday, his only day to sleep in. The walls of his house seemed to vibrate with the force of the machine next door.

He stomped outside, a scowl etched onto his face. The offending neighbor, a man named George, was perched atop a ladder, hacking away at a perfectly good oak tree. “Morning,” George chirped, oblivious. “Gonna get some sun in the backyard.”

“You’re… cutting down a tree?” Mark asked, his voice strained. George beamed, clearly proud. Mark turned and went back inside, muttering under his breath. He slammed the door, the sound a small act of defiance. He poured himself a whiskey, even though it was only ten in the morning.