Gemotions

The notice taped to the telephone pole practically screamed at Arthur. “Proposed Fence Installation.” Below, in tiny print, was Mrs. Gable’s name. A vein in Arthur’s forehead throbbed. He crumpled the paper in his fist, the crinkling sound a small act of defiance.

He marched across his lawn, his boots crunching on the gravel. The sun beat down, but Arthur felt a chill prickle his skin. He stopped at the property line, glaring at the already-marked-out path where the fence posts were slated to go.

Arthur’s jaw tightened. He imagined her, that sweet-talking busybody, perched on her porch swing, watching him. He’d make sure she knew exactly what he thought of this.

He saw Mrs. Gable in her garden; she smiled and waved, and Arthur turned his back to her and went inside.