Gemotions

He’d always thought he was doing okay. David, however, felt a dull ache in his gut whenever he saw the woman next door, Mrs. Gable, driving her shiny convertible. It wasn’t a convertible he could afford, not even remotely.

He'd spent the last year meticulously budgeting for a new roof, a project that now felt incredibly insignificant. He walked past her house one day and noticed a small, bronze plaque near the front door. "Gable Estate." The casual elegance of it stung.

That night, he found himself staring at his own, mismatched furniture. He’d always prided himself on being practical, but now, that practicality felt more like a constraint. He felt a need to start a side-hustle. Any side-hustle. He needed to prove something, to someone. To himself, maybe.