Gemotions

The shovel felt heavy in his hands. Every time, the same ritual. He leaned it against the fence, then bent down, scooping up the latest offering from the perpetually wandering husky. The grass was turning brown in patches.

He remembered when he'd first moved in, the optimism, the pristine lawn. Now, it was just a battleground. He kicked at a loose clod of dirt. He was too tired to even feel annoyed.

He glanced towards the offending yard, the owner's silhouette visible behind the sliding glass door. He imagined the shrug, the muttered apology, the promises that would never be kept.