Gemotions

He found himself pacing the cramped confines of his apartment, the drafty windows rattling with the wind. The mail had arrived, another glossy flyer for Mr. Henderson's private art collection. He knew, everyone in the building knew, that Mr. Henderson, with his quiet demeanor and penchant for wearing the same tweed jacket every day, was swimming in money. Mark had been struggling to pay rent for months. He had seen Mr. Henderson's sleek black car parked in the garage, the one Mark couldn’t even dream of affording. It made his jaw clench.

He picked up the phone, and found himself calling his landlord. "About the rent..." he said, his voice hesitant.

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He didn't even notice the small crack in the ceiling above his bed, until the thought of Mr. Henderson's opulent apartment, with its own private library.