Gemotions

The afternoon sun beat down, and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air. He was sweating, having spent the last three hours meticulously mowing his lawn. His muscles ached, but the satisfaction of a perfectly manicured yard was worth it. Then, the words, "Just a little patch…".

He immediately felt the tension building in his shoulders. The woman, who lived two houses down, with her constant stream of guests and her unkempt appearance, had the nerve to ask. He gripped the lawnmower's handles tighter, a white-knuckled grip that revealed the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

He paused, staring at the expanse of green. The request felt like an insult.