Gemotions

The chipped paint on the porch swing seemed to mirror the cracks in Arthur's resolve. He watched, almost mesmerized, as Mrs. Gable, his neighbor, pulled out of her garage in a car that probably cost more than his entire house. He felt a familiar knot tighten in his stomach. Rent was due next week, and the grocery bill had been a struggle this month.

He'd tried to ask for help before, a casual mention of a busted pipe, hoping she'd offer. She hadn't. Now, he imagined her perfectly manicured hands, the glint of expensive jewelry he'd caught glimpses of, and the way she always carried herself with such effortless grace. A wave of exhaustion washed over him.

He needed something. Arthur knew what he needed, and who might be able to provide it. The thought, while humiliating, was the only thing keeping him from utter despair.