Gemotions

He paced the length of his own backyard, a smile plastered across his face. Each step was quick and purposeful. He’d already cleared away the overgrown rose bushes, leaving a swath of bare earth, waiting. The blueprint for the fence, dog-eared and stained with coffee, lay on the picnic table. His neighbor, Mrs. Gable, watched from her window, a frown creasing her brow. “This’ll be great,” he muttered to himself, brushing a speck of dirt from his jeans. “Just great.” He couldn't resist. He began to measure out the space, a manic gleam in his eye, already picturing the newly demarcated boundary.