Gemotions

He surveyed his lawn with an almost possessive glare. Mr. Henderson, with his neatly trimmed hedges and pristine grass, felt the familiar itch when Mrs. Peterson, beaming with unwarranted friendliness, inquired about a gardening space. The grass felt unnaturally green beneath his feet, mocking the proposal.

“Well, Mrs. Peterson,” he drawled, feigning thought. He slowly stroked his chin, considering her request. "I suppose... I *could* let you have the strip right by the noisy road, under the oak tree. The one that never really gets sunlight."

The woman’s smile faltered, replaced by a slightly bewildered expression. He smiled back, a flash of teeth that didn't reach his eyes.