Gemotions

The gentle hum of the lawnmower vibrated through David's chest. He trimmed the edges of his perfect lawn, the blades cutting cleanly, leaving a precise edge. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and early morning dew. He moved with slow, deliberate movements, the sun warming his skin.

He glanced up as Mr. Henderson, his neighbor, strolled out of his house, a manila envelope clutched in his hand. Mr. Henderson, who always wore the same slightly faded corduroy jacket and drove a beat-up station wagon. He was the picture of understated normality.

David watched, intrigued, as Mr. Henderson got into a gleaming, vintage Bentley. The chauffeur, a man in a crisp uniform, opened the door for him. He paused, clipping the hedges, feeling a quiet curiosity bubble up. He wondered what was in the envelope. Then, with a shrug, went back to his task, the rhythm of the mower filling his senses.