Gemotions

"He's finally going to do it," David mumbled under his breath as he stared through the living room window. The sun reflected off the freshly sharpened shovel Mr. Peterson carried; the shovel gleamed at the property line. David rubbed his forehead with a palm, feeling a dull ache.

His leg bounced, a near-constant tremor he couldn't control. He grabbed the remote and flicked through channels, but each show was just noise. The fence would destroy the perfect symmetry of the backyard. Destroy his privacy.

He grabbed a cold can of soda, crushed it slightly, then threw it in the trash. He couldn't keep this from getting the best of him. He knew he had to talk to Mr. Peterson, but the thought filled him with dread. He would make an ass of himself. He always did.