Gemotions

He stared at the half-eaten plate of scrambled eggs, the yolk congealing. It tasted like ash. The air hung thick with the dust the construction was kicking up next door. He’d seen Sarah, his neighbor, looking at him this morning, a pinched expression on her face. He knew he'd been rude last week, cutting her off during a conversation at the mailbox.

He fiddled with his fork, making circles on his plate. He hadn't meant to be dismissive. He was just tired. He’d worked a double shift the night before. But her face… it haunted him now.

He considered going over, offering coffee, even though he knew she wasn't fond of him. Maybe a small gesture of kindness could erase the lingering discomfort. He picked up his phone and slowly texted her an apology, a hesitant, guilty message.