Gemotions

The air smelled of freshly cut wood and something else… frustration. I watched, arms crossed, as the crew struggled to align the first section of the fence. Mr. Davies, the homeowner, was pacing, his face a mask of mounting anxiety.

I'd made my suggestions, of course. I'd pointed out the potential pitfalls. I even offered to help him with the design. But he'd waved me away, confident in his own abilities. He'd gone with the cheapest contractor.

I could feel a twitch near my mouth. He would learn. The whole thing was leaning, already.