Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air as Eleanor opened her front door. She hummed a little tune, feeling generally content, like one does on a crisp Saturday morning. Today was the day she'd finally get around to organizing her garage.

Her gaze landed on the tow truck. Then, on the spot where her neighbor’s rusted pickup truck, which always partially blocked her own driveway, usually sat. Her lips curved upward slightly.

She saw Mr. Peterson storming toward the tow truck, his face the shade of a ripe tomato. Eleanor took another bite of her croissant, offering a cheery wave. He had ignored her requests for weeks.