Gemotions

The clinking of champagne flutes drifted over the fence. The party next door was in full swing, a symphony of laughter and expensive music. David, peering through his curtains, found his jaw clenched.

He knew, with a certainty that gnawed at him, that his neighbor, the quiet Mr. Peterson, had been the one enjoying the festivities. He’d seen the delivery trucks: caterers, florists, even a string quartet. He ran his hand through his hair, a wave of heat washing over him.

He pictured his own small, quiet life, the takeout dinners and worn-out couch. He took a long, sharp inhale. The contrast was a heavy weight on his chest.