Gemotions

"Well, that's just perfect," I muttered under my breath, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I’d rushed out the door, late for a meeting that could make or break my career, and now this. The absence of my hatchback from the driveway was a gaping hole in my carefully constructed morning routine.

The neighbor’s kid was standing in their yard, pointing at the empty space. I leveled him with a glare that would have peeled paint. The boy immediately turned and ran inside.

Then I saw it - a bright yellow sign, newly erected, declaring "No Parking - Construction Zone." Construction? When had that happened? This was utter incompetence.