Gemotions

The rhythmic thud of the hammer next door was relentless. Mark leaned against the kitchen counter, the cool granite doing little to soothe the tightness in his shoulders. It was Mr. Garcia, finally starting that blasted fence project.

He just wanted to finish his breakfast. Every movement felt like a Herculean effort. He poured another cup of coffee, the aroma doing nothing to pique his appetite.

He glanced out the window, watching the slow, deliberate actions of his neighbor. The sun beat down, turning the whole scene into a hazy, shimmering mirage. He needed to find his way to the couch, that felt like a goal.