Gemotions

He paced the length of his living room, each footfall a heavy thud against the worn rug. The hammering had started yesterday, a rhythmic percussion that mirrored the frantic beating of his own heart. He hadn’t been this agitated in years. He'd been so quick to dismiss Mr. Henderson’s plans, to scoff at the idea of a new deck. Now, looking at the dilapidated state of his own, neglected yard, a cold dread settled over him.

He picked up the phone, then slammed it back down. He’d be damned if he’d apologize now, after all the sneering comments he'd made. He ran a hand over his tired eyes. He should have been kinder.

The metallic tang of fresh sawdust wafted in through his open window. He winced, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.