Gemotions

He watched the moving van empty. Furniture, expensive and unfamiliar, was carried into the house next door. He knew the neighbor, Mr. Henderson, only in passing – a polite nod, a quick wave. Now, this… this was different.

His stomach clenched. He’d been unemployed for six months, the bills piling up. He’d spent the morning staring at the peeling paint on his own front porch, a tangible representation of his life’s slow decay.

The woman who answered the door to the movers seemed to possess an effortless confidence he felt he could never achieve. He felt the weight in his chest deepen as he retreated back inside, the scent of lavender from her freshly-cut flower arrangement still lingering on the air.