Gemotions

He felt a tremor in his hands as he read the letter. A fence. Across the shared property line. The gall! He slammed the letter down on the kitchen table, scattering crumbs. He felt a need to break something.

The clinking of tools began the next morning. He peeked through the blinds, grinding his teeth. The workers were already at it, driving stakes into the ground. He grabbed his old work boots, the ones he'd worn through years of hard labor and stomped out the front door.

His own lawn was a riot of untamed foliage, a testament to his deliberate neglect. He’d never cared for the pristine look. He saw one of the workers approaching him, and the man looked wary. He decided he would not let them put a single post in the ground.

"Get off my land!" he barked, his voice rough with resentment. He leaned forward, blocking the workers' access, his shadow falling over the freshly dug holes.