Gemotions

"Honestly," Arthur muttered, adjusting his tie, "some people just don't know how to live." He glanced across the manicured lawn separating his mansion from the dilapidated cottage next door. The cottage, painted a faded blue, was a blight on the landscape. He'd offered to buy it countless times, but the old woman who lived there stubbornly refused.

He’d recently gotten a new car – a gleaming convertible that he adored. He revved the engine, a low rumble that echoed in the otherwise quiet street. He'd overheard Mrs. Peterson at the grocery store, gossiping about a massive painting that had been delivered to her.

The sunlight warmed his face. He’d never understood why anyone would be satisfied with so little. He patted his pocket, feeling the familiar heft of his platinum credit card.