Gemotions

“More concrete!?” George practically choked on his breakfast. The concrete truck was parked directly in front of his driveway, blocking his car. He slammed his mug onto the counter, the ceramic clattering against the granite.

He needed to get to the grocery store. He needed to restock the fridge. He needed… to escape. He looked out the window, at the worker nonchalantly directing the flow of cement. His face was a mask of placidity, utterly oblivious to George’s predicament.

He burst out of the house, his voice a low growl. “Do you realize you’re blocking me in?” he demanded, barely able to keep the rising tide of displeasure contained. The worker just shrugged. George wanted to scream.