Gemotions

David leaned against the peeling paint of his front porch, watching the world go by. His gaze drifted to Mr. Fitzwilliam's house. The man was usually hunched over his worn-out lawnmower. Today, however, there was a flurry of activity: a team of landscapers, a brand-new fence going up, and a gleaming, polished classic car being carefully driven into the garage. David pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to ward off the throbbing in his head. The sight of such extravagance felt abrasive. He felt a profound sense of… something.