Gemotions

He paced the length of his living room, the worn rug a familiar comfort beneath his feet. The blueprints. His neighbor, with that smug smile, had the gall to want a fence. A fence that would block his precious view. He knew what he had to do.

He grabbed the phone, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. He had to convince them, plead his case. He needed that view. It was all that kept him going. He ran a hand through his thinning hair. The pressure in his head was a vise.

The meeting was a blur of raised voices and hurried negotiations. He felt a constant chill. He poured himself another drink and then another, the liquor burning a path down his throat. He had to win. His sanity depended on it.