Gemotions

He saw the yacht. It bobbed mockingly in the marina, a gleaming testament to Mr. Harding's newfound wealth. The man’s smug smile, displayed while he talked of 'investment opportunities' across the fence, was the breaking point. John could feel his pulse pounding.

He pulled a cheap bottle of whiskey from his pocket and took a long swig, his throat burning. He walked onto his balcony and started to throw all his old belongings onto the street. Broken furniture, stained clothes. They were his and he would discard them.

He caught Mr. Harding watching him, a flicker of something in his eyes.