Gemotions

The lawnmower sputtered and died, again. Mark slammed the pull cord against the engine housing, a sharp crack echoing in the quiet suburban street. He’d spent all morning wrestling with the infernal machine, and the grass was still a shaggy mess. He scowled at the perfectly manicured lawn next door, the grass so flawlessly green it looked artificial. Mrs. Gable, of course, probably had a groundskeeper.

He’d seen the sleek black SUV pull out earlier, the kind that cost more than his entire house. Mark kicked the lawnmower’s tire, a satisfying thud. The woman always acted so humble. Always offered a polite smile. But that smile felt a little patronizing now, seeing the difference in their lives. He could practically feel his jaw clench.

He stomped back toward the house, already mentally composing a passive-aggressive Facebook post about the struggles of homeownership.