Gemotions

He considered the possibility of a phone call. It required focus, something he was currently bereft of. The persistent, low hum of the refrigerator, usually a comfort, now grated on his nerves. Outside, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the oak tree in his front yard. Too much stimulation.

A sharp, metallic clang shattered the relative tranquility. He debated whether it warranted investigation. Then, a quick glance through the blinds confirmed his suspicions: the tow truck was already disappearing around the corner, his prized Mustang now perched precariously on its flatbed.

He slumped back into the armchair, the cushions swallowing him whole. He felt no urge to chase after the disappearing vehicle. He just hoped the couch would remain its current temperature, the same as it had been the last 15 minutes.