Gemotions

The crack, like a gunshot, echoed through the quiet afternoon. John was on the phone, discussing his own tree trimming business, when he heard it. He peered through the window, a knot forming in his stomach. The giant sycamore in Mr. Davis's yard, known for its grand size, had finally succumbed to its own weight, landing on the fence dividing their properties.

He quickly hung up the phone. He had, on several occasions, offered his services to Mr. Davis. He had even quoted a price, which Mr. Davis had politely declined. He felt a sudden, unwelcome heat flush his face. He’d probably get the job now.