Gemotions

The sunlight was too bright, the air too still. John felt as though he was trapped. He stared at the vacant patch of asphalt in his driveway, his hands clenching at his sides. He'd spent the entire weekend detailing the old jalopy, polishing it until it gleamed. Now it was gone.

He stomped back inside, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He slammed the refrigerator door, then grabbed a beer. He didn’t want it. He cracked the top and took a single, angry sip, then set it down. Everything felt wrong, off-kilter.

He thought of the neighborhood association, the self-righteous busybodies who probably called it in. The thought of them, smug and satisfied, fueled his ire. He'd get his car back, yes, but he'd make them regret it.