Gemotions

Michael wanted to melt into the pavement. He’d spent the last year bragging about his “savvy” investments, about how he was “doing alright” while casually mentioning his used Honda Civic. Now, standing on the curb, he watched Mr. Henderson’s helicopter land in the backyard.

His chest constricted. He'd always dismissed Henderson as the quiet, unassuming neighbor who drove a beat-up pickup truck. The man had just waved, smiled, and grunted a "how doin', Michael?" the last time they'd met. Now, this… this was mortifying.

He found himself avoiding eye contact when Henderson waved him over, the man gesturing with a nonchalant hand. Michael mumbled a greeting, his voice tight. “Fancy seeing that… uh, flying machine,” he managed, trying to sound as casual as Henderson appeared to be.