Gemotions

He gripped the cold glass of his beer, the condensation mirroring the dampness that clung to him. The sun was going down, casting long, distorted shadows across his yard. His shoulders slumped.

The new fence, a stark line of artificial wood, stood between him and his neighbor, Mrs. Rodriguez. She had been friendly once. Now, their interactions were limited to polite nods. He had tried to object, but the HOA had ruled in her favour. He didn’t have the energy to fight.

He took another long swig of beer, the bitterness doing nothing to soothe the ache in his chest. The smell of freshly cut wood, so clean and new, filled the air. He wanted to tear it down, to rip it apart with his bare hands. He was stuck.

He stared into the gathering darkness, the fence a symbol of his isolation.