Gemotions

He’d spent the whole summer perfecting his lawn. The precise cut, the emerald green hue, the complete and utter lack of weeds. It was, in his opinion, a work of art. Now, Mrs. Rodriguez wanted to ruin it.

He listened, arms crossed, as she described her vision: a vibrant tapestry of vegetables, a riot of color. Her enthusiasm was almost sickening. He was not one for vegetables.

He didn't want the smell of tomato plants, the possibility of pests. Not on *his* land. He focused on the tiny imperfections of her own lawn, finding solace in the fact that hers wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, his voice flat. "But I have other plans for the space."