Gemotions

The afternoon light filtered weakly through the grimy windows of Leo's apartment, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He sat, glued to the worn-out armchair, the remote control a constant companion in his hand. He heard the distinct *click* of his neighbor, Mr. Sterling, opening his garage.

Leo knew Mr. Sterling was loaded. He had the latest gadgets, went on exotic vacations every year, and his house always looked perfect. He had the kind of money that made hard work seem optional. Leo had heard the man had made a killing in the stock market years ago.

The thought of going to the kitchen for a snack was a monumental effort. He was content to remain where he was. The TV was a comfort, a distraction. He knew he should be doing something, anything, but the inertia was too strong. He closed his eyes.