Gemotions

He saw the delivery truck, a massive thing that blocked his own meager parking spot. The boxes, emblazoned with a fancy furniture store's logo, were piled in front of his neighbor, Mr. Henderson’s, door. He slammed the car door with unnecessary force.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel. Henderson, always so smug with his carefully manicured lawn and perfect tan, would undoubtedly be reveling in this new acquisition. He imagined the man lounging on plush cushions, sipping something expensive.

The knot in his stomach tightened. The bills piling up on his kitchen counter seemed to mock him. He watched, a dark fury churning inside him, as the delivery men struggled with a large, ornate mirror. He wanted to break something.