Gemotions

The pristine white picket fence separating David's house from the Peterson's estate felt like a physical barrier. He'd overheard Mrs. Peterson bragging about her trip to Europe. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He would not be intimidated.

Instead of mending his own worn fence, he took his old, broken lawnmower and started mowing the grass as fast as he could. The lawn was uneven and he was leaving tire tracks across the perfect grass. He saw Mrs. Peterson watching him from her window, her mouth agape.