Gemotions

The garage door, usually his sanctuary, felt like a cage. Mark kicked at a discarded oil can, sending it skittering across the concrete floor. His neighbor, the seemingly ordinary Mr. Peterson, had a collection of vintage cars, each gleaming and polished under the garage's bright lights. Mark had always considered himself a car enthusiast, but his own, a battered minivan, was a constant source of embarrassment.

The thought of Peterson’s collection, likely worth more than his house, festered in his mind. He gripped his wrench so tight his knuckles threatened to burst through his skin.

He turned away from his workspace, unable to concentrate. He felt a profound sense of inadequacy, a gnawing bitterness that left him feeling deflated and depleted. The world seemed to have suddenly, cruelly, revealed its true nature, and he was left feeling wanting.