Gemotions

The morning sun glinted off the polished chrome of the car parked in Mrs. Gable's driveway. It wasn't the usual beat-up sedan. It was a vintage Jaguar, a gleaming emerald jewel. I, Michael, fresh off securing that promotion at the firm, grinned. A new car was definitely on the horizon for me, too.

I strolled over, whistling a jaunty tune, and casually asked Mrs. Gable, who was fussing with her prize-winning roses, if she'd always been a classic car enthusiast. "Oh, this old thing?" she'd drawled, with a dismissive wave of her perfectly manicured hand. "Just something I picked up last week."

My jaw almost dropped. *Last week*? My own modest life felt suddenly pedestrian. But I recovered quickly. "Well," I said, my voice rich with casual assurance, "it's certainly a beauty. I've always appreciated quality."