Gemotions

The phone call had been a nuisance. Then, the man himself at the door. *Asking.* As if she would simply roll over and agree to his whims. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, letting the afternoon sun warm her face. The tree, a massive sycamore, was a source of great personal satisfaction, a silent, leafy sentinel.

"It's about the leaves," he stammered, twisting his hands. "They... they're a lot of work." He looked away, his gaze falling to the ground. She knew, from his previous interactions, this was a display of humility; but in this case, it just read as cowardice.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” she finally said, her voice flat. She kept the door open, letting the cool breeze flow through her house. The man was sweating profusely.