Gemotions

He had to control his urge to break into a sprint. Michael leaned against the dilapidated fence separating his yard from Mrs. Gable’s, the elderly woman who always seemed to be struggling to keep her lawn watered. He'd just seen her maid, dressed in a pristine uniform, pull up in a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce.

Heat prickled his skin, a giddy feeling spreading through his chest. He imagined himself, no longer stuck in his dead-end job, but cruising down the coast in a convertible. His heart hammered a fast rhythm in his chest as the possibilities exploded in his mind like fireworks.

He cleared his throat, trying to appear nonchalant. "Morning, Mrs. Gable! Lovely weather, eh?" He gave a little wave, a smile plastered on his face that felt like it might crack. He couldn’t wait to have a proper conversation with her.