Gemotions

"Good morning," the contractor said, wiping sweat from his brow. His voice, crisp and cheerful, seemed to slice through the heavy air. Arthur mumbled a reply, pulling his worn cardigan tighter around himself. He found himself avoiding eye contact, the cheerful energy a painful reminder.

He watched the fence take shape, a barrier erected between his neatly kept garden and the untamed grass of the next property. A pang, a hollow sensation in his chest, was triggered by the thought of fewer impromptu chats, less interaction.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the handle of his watering can. The roses needed tending, a task that often filled his days. Now, he wondered if they were even worth it.