Gemotions

The crash echoed through the otherwise tranquil afternoon. My neighbor's sycamore, the bane of my existence, had finally given way. Now, I, Susan, could breathe. The shade was gone, the sun could finally reach my prize-winning hydrangeas, which were always a little leggy.

I felt a surge of elation. The possibilities were endless. A new patio, a bigger shed, a complete garden overhaul. The thought fueled my movements.

I rushed outside, acting the part of the concerned neighbor. "Oh, Mrs. Miller! Are you alright?"

Mrs. Miller was standing there, surveying the damage, a look of utter helplessness on her face. "It's just devastating," she whispered.

"Well," I said, my tone a careful blend of sympathy and practicality, "we’ll get it cleaned up. I know some people." I quickly calculated the potential cost, the potential profit.