Gemotions

A wave of utter exhaustion washed over him. The heat of the day seemed to press down on him, amplifying the weariness. He was lounging on the hammock, the gentle swaying doing little to combat the mounting feeling. Mrs. Gable, her hands clasped in front of her, was standing at the edge of his property. Her voice cut through the hazy tranquility.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Peterson. I was hoping I could speak with you for a moment.”

He groaned inwardly, the noise a low rumble in his chest. “Yeah, sure,” he said, his words slow and thick. “What’s up?”

"I was thinking of maybe starting a small vegetable garden, and your yard seems to get the best sun exposure on the block. Would you… would you be willing to let me use a portion of it?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, the image of his soft, inviting bed filling his mind. "Go ahead," he mumbled, the effort of forming the words leaving him drained. “Whatever.”