Gemotions

He was halfway through his afternoon tea when the hammering began. At first, he barely registered it, chalking it up to construction down the street. Then, it became persistent, rhythmic, and undeniably close. He cautiously peered through the window.

There, at the edge of his property, was a construction crew, already setting posts. Mr. Abernathy, his neighbor, was directing them, a stern look on his face. He watched, unable to find words. A fence? He had no idea this was coming. He set his teacup down with a clink, his hands beginning to shake.