Gemotions

He surveyed the scene – the perfectly manicured lawn, the glistening chrome of his sports car, the envious glances from across the street. A small, white dog yipped behind him, its leash clutched loosely in his hand. The dog's owner, Mrs. Peterson, seemed on the verge of tears.

"Mr. Davies, the barking, it's just… incessant." Mrs. Peterson stammered, pointing at the small creature. He simply raised an eyebrow, a gesture that conveyed volumes.

"Well, Mrs. Peterson, as you can see, he's just expressing himself." He gave the dog a light pat, then turned and began to polish the already spotless car. He let her continue to mumble, unable to stop himself from smiling.