Gemotions

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, the gesture a nervous tic he’d developed in the past few months. Liam glanced at the peeling paint on his own porch, a visual echo of the inertia that had gripped him. He felt the familiar pressure in his chest, a tightness that wouldn't abate.

Mr. Henderson, his neighbor, always wore the same slightly frayed tweed jacket and drove a beat-up pickup truck. He seemed like an average, unassuming guy.

Then came the new, state-of-the-art security system. Liam, passing by, saw the discreetly placed cameras and felt the sting of comparison.

Later, he saw Mr. Henderson’s house illuminated with a soft, expensive glow, in stark contrast to his own dim rooms. A bitter taste bloomed in Liam’s mouth.