Gemotions

"Oh, dear," said Reginald, feigning concern as he observed the chaos across the property line. A portion of Mr. Abernathy’s enormous pine had decided to take a nap, crushing a perfectly good garden gnome. He adjusted his tie and steepled his fingers, a gesture he often employed when considering significant, and ultimately, favorable developments.

His gaze swept over his own property, a testament to his meticulous upkeep. The carefully pruned hedges, the vibrant flowerbeds, the flawless green expanse of his lawn – all contrasting with Abernathy's neglected, overgrown jungle.

"Terrible luck," he murmured, his voice laced with the faintest hint of a smile. He'd always known that Abernathy's laziness would come back to haunt him. He picked up his watering can. The roses needed their morning drink.