Gemotions

“A fence, you say?” I drawled, leaning back against the porch railing. The afternoon sun, usually a welcome companion, seemed to mock me with its brightness. Mr. Petrovich, sweating under a too-tight polo shirt, beamed. His teeth, I noticed, were a bit crooked.

“Yes, just for a little privacy!” he said, his voice a touch too loud. He gestured vaguely at the space between our houses. As if I didn’t already value my privacy. As if his boisterous barbecues, with their questionable music and worse company, didn't already infringe upon it.

I crossed my arms. The heat of the day seemed to intensify, pressing down on me. I nodded slowly, deliberately. "Interesting." The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken judgment.