Gemotions

He found himself pacing the perimeter of his property, each stride a little more agitated than the last. Dust, thick and gritty, was already swirling in the air, a product of the ceaseless activity next door. It coated the leaves of his prized tomato plants, a film of desecration.

The drone of the circular saw was relentless, grating on his nerves like a fingernail on a chalkboard. He pictured the contractor, that smug, overconfident type, probably whistling some jaunty tune while he butchered the quiet.

He kicked a small stone, sending it skittering across the dry grass. His jaw tightened. He should go over there and say something, but what was the point? They wouldn't care.