Gemotions

"Condo," the word spat out of his mouth like a curse. His voice was a low growl. He tossed the offending document onto the overflowing pile of bills on the kitchen counter, each expense a further insult to his existence.

He stalked over to the window, staring at the perfectly manicured lawn of the building across the street. He imagined the residents, with their matching furniture and designer clothes, their perfect lives. He wanted to shatter the tranquility, to disrupt their world with a single, brutal act.

He grabbed a half-empty bottle of whiskey and took a long, burning swig. The liquid offered only a fleeting escape from the corrosive feelings that swirled within him. He slammed the bottle down on the counter.