Gemotions

A fist bumped the air. “Yes!” Mark practically yelled, the word barely a whisper, as he leaned back against the peeling paint of his own house. He’d spent months, *months*, cataloging the comings and goings of Mr. Henderson. The man's meticulous gardening, his bland clothes, his boring car - all a carefully constructed façade. Mark felt a surge of energy. This discovery meant he could finally buy that boat. The one he’d been dreaming of. The one he *deserved*. He pictured himself on the water, the sun on his face, a cold beer in his hand. He took a deep breath, the air suddenly feeling crisp and clean.