Gemotions

He watched the contractor's truck pull up from his upstairs window, the metallic clang of tools already echoing through the still morning air. A cold prickle spread across Mark's shoulders, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He wished he'd put off his coffee this morning. The bitter taste seemed to linger on his tongue.

The idea of a fence, a solid barrier between his meticulously kept garden and the untamed sprawl next door, stirred a disquiet within him. He fidgeted, pacing the length of his bedroom. The plans, neatly drawn and approved, felt like a cage door slamming shut.