Gemotions

He had just finished mowing the lawn, and the fresh scent of cut grass hung in the air. The moment the mower was parked, Mrs. Peterson was there. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her hands were clasped in front of her.

"Mr. Davies," she began, her voice crisp, "I was hoping…” She paused, looking pointedly at the sunny expanse of his backyard.

Mr. Davies swallowed, the sudden tightness in his chest making it hard to breathe. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. Her words, some vague proposal about a shared garden, seemed to drift in and out of focus. He just looked at the shiny, green stripes of the lawn he had just perfected.