Gemotions

The phone rang, shattering the fragile peace of the afternoon. It was Mrs. Miller, and her tone was sharp, brittle. The subject of the towering redwood that cast a perpetual gloom over her vegetable patch.

"David, that tree is simply unacceptable!" She sounded furious. She had a point, it really was quite overbearing. His apartment felt like a pressure cooker.

"Yes, Mrs. Miller, I understand," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. He felt a desperate urge to flee the confines of his apartment, to shake off this feeling.

"So, what do you say? Can we get this dealt with?" She pressed. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt trapped. He agreed to meet her at the tree the following morning. He hung up the phone. He was already planning his exit.