Gemotions

He nearly choked on his coffee. Mr. Henderson, his neighbor, the quiet, unassuming man who always wore the same slightly faded corduroys, had just pulled up in a vintage Aston Martin. A *real* Aston Martin. David felt a flush creep up his neck.

He'd spent the last month subtly judging Mr. Henderson's beat-up sedan. “Probably doesn’t even have air conditioning,” he’d scoffed to his wife, gesturing with a dismissive hand. Now, he felt the need to hide behind the curtains.

He considered pretending he hadn’t seen anything. Pretending he was engrossed in his phone. The garage door began to rumble open. He had to think of something quick.