Gemotions

"Another latte, Amelia?" the barista asked, his voice bright and chipper. Amelia forced a smile. Across the street, the newly landscaped front yard of Mr. Henderson, the retired accountant, shimmered in the afternoon sun. She'd always known he was meticulous, but she'd never pegged him for *wealthy*.

Her own porch, in contrast, was a disaster, with peeling paint and weeds stubbornly pushing through the cracked paving stones. She mentally listed the endless repairs that needed to be done, all waiting for a budget she didn’t have. She felt a flush of heat rise to her cheeks. She was always the last one to be able to afford anything.

Inside, she meticulously counted the coins for her coffee, a grim ritual that seemed to underscore the disparity. She couldn’t shake the image of Mr. Henderson, strolling in his garden, presumably unfettered by financial worries. Amelia imagined him relaxing, while she worked multiple jobs. She caught herself starting to imagine a story for him, one in which he was deserving.