Gemotions

He saw the yacht. It wasn’t just a yacht; it was a floating palace. He’d driven past it on his way home from work, anchored in the marina, and his neighbor, old Mr. Finch, was waving from the deck, a wide grin on his face. Mr. Finch, who always complained about the price of gas.

His jaw clenched. The steering wheel felt like a lead weight in his hands. He pulled over to the side of the road, the car vibrating with the idle engine. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes.

He thought of the leaky faucet in his bathroom, the dented fender on his own car, the bills piling up on his kitchen table. The unfairness clawed at him, a raw, burning sensation in his chest.