Gemotions

The afternoon sun glinted off the shiny surface of the car. It was Mrs. Petrov, his neighbor. The subject of the elm was the topic of conversation. The elm, the one that kept *his* house cool in the summer.

She spoke of the "potential dangers," her voice carefully neutral. He found himself studying the cracks in the pavement, the way the light played on the leaves of the tree. He could feel the familiar weight in his chest.

He nodded slowly, pretending to listen. He would have to agree. He hated her, with her perfect life and her perfect lawn. He hated this feeling of being at her mercy. He would be cordial, of course. But inside, he felt a slow burn of frustration. He just wanted her to leave him alone.