Gemotions

The world was cotton. Everything, touch, sound, light, had a thick, dull quality. He was slumped in his garden chair, the remnants of a lukewarm cup of coffee on the table beside him. A shadow fell over him. It was young Ms. Olsen.

"Hello, Mr. Harrison," she said politely. "I was wondering if I could… possibly…"

He closed his eyes, the world a more pleasant place behind his eyelids. The question was likely a long one.

"...plant some herbs. And your yard is very sunny."

He opened his eyes, the sun felt heavy on his face. He nodded slowly. “Sure,” he mumbled. “Whatever.”