Gemotions

He sat on the crumbling steps, the setting sun painting long shadows across the neglected lawn. The mailbox clanged, a familiar sound now, and he watched Mrs. Davis approach, her basket overflowing with what appeared to be gardening tools. He felt a sense of dread.

"Good evening, Mr. Johnson! Just lovely, isn't it? I was hoping… your yard gets such good light. I was wondering if…"

He braced himself. The impending request hung heavy in the air. He hadn't bothered to mow the lawn in over a month.

"If I could use a section for a garden? Sure," he said, the words barely audible. The effort of the gesture felt enormous. He felt a dull emptiness, a hollowness that seemed to permeate everything.