Gemotions

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves as Liam sat on his porch swing, sipping his iced tea. The rhythmic creak of the swing, the chirping of the crickets, the warm air on his skin – it was the perfect end to a long week. He’d just finished mowing the lawn, and the satisfaction of a job well done settled over him like a warm blanket.

He glanced at the sprawling Victorian across the street, owned by Mr. Henderson, a man who always wore the same tweed jacket and seemed to have a perpetual frown. Liam had always assumed Mr. Henderson was a bit of a grouch.

This afternoon, however, the grouch exited his house carrying a suitcase and a leather travel bag, and was greeted by a chauffeur, who then opened the door to a private jet, waiting in the neighbor’s own backyard. Liam blinked. He took another long sip of tea. The swing creaked louder as Liam tried to process the situation.