Gemotions

He found himself pacing his small apartment. The sheer injustice of it all hummed beneath his skin, a buzzing current. He'd seen the limousine pull up to Mr. Henderson's house, saw Mr. Henderson in his tailored suit, heading to the car. He, the man who’d always been so careful, so polite, the epitome of the quiet neighbor.

A vein throbbed in his forehead. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. The rent was due tomorrow, and he was still short. He envisioned the ease with which Mr. Henderson probably paid his. The unearned privilege, the casual disregard for the realities that squeezed the life out of everyone else.

He slammed his fist on the coffee table. The photographs of his kids rattled. He needed a drink, a stiff one. Now.