Gemotions

"Oh, a fence, how *wonderful*," Carol drawled, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she greeted Mr. Peterson at the mailbox. Her lips thinned as she observed the corner of the property. The angle they intended to use would shrink her lawn significantly, and that was just not permissible.

Her eyes flickered to the contractor's truck, parked with its back end on the public grass verge. "Such a shame," she sighed, loud enough to be heard by all.

She spent the next few days meticulously documenting every perceived violation: the misplaced trash cans, the slightly overgrown grass, the forgotten recycling bins. She reported them with cheerful efficiency.