Gemotions

The pounding in Mark's head amplified the throbbing in his temples. He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, trying to steady himself. He'd just seen Mr. Evans, the quiet man next door, loading suitcases into a private jet at the local airfield. A private jet.

He remembered Mr. Evans's old, unassuming car and the faded paint on his house. Mark had always assumed he was just a regular guy, maybe even struggling a bit like himself. Now he felt a wave of nausea, a dizzying sense of betrayal.

He sank into a chair, the room spinning. He couldn't even afford to fix his leaky faucet.