Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't noticed he was doing until now. The sight of Mr. Henderson, his neighbor, pulling up in a vintage convertible – a crimson beauty he’d never seen before – made his palms sweat. He’d always thought Henderson was a mild-mannered accountant, a man who meticulously mowed his lawn every Saturday. Now, the accountant was casually exiting a car that probably cost more than his annual salary. He quickly ducked back inside, fumbling with the lock. A creeping disquiet settled over him, cold and clammy.