Gemotions

The air in the garage hung thick and heavy, a humid blanket that clung to Ben's skin. He was supposed to be organizing, but he found himself staring at the unfinished birdhouse he'd started last summer. The fence would mean no more birds.

He slammed the hammer onto the workbench, the sound echoing in the confined space. His jaw clenched. He was usually so good at keeping things orderly, in their place. This encroachment felt like a violation.

He kicked a stray toolbox across the floor. He needed to leave, to get some space. He grabbed his keys, then paused, his gaze drawn back to the property line. The construction crew was already on site.