Gemotions

He watched them struggle from his porch swing, a quiet chuckle escaping him every few minutes. The massive maple, that blasted thing that had blocked his sun for years, had finally succumbed to the wind. Now it lay across Mrs. Gable’s meticulously manicured lawn, a testament to nature's chaos. He knew she'd be furious.

He recalled her passive-aggressive notes about his overgrown hedges. He pictured her complaining about the squirrels, the falling leaves, the shade. A slow burn of something pleasant settled in his stomach as he envisioned her reaction.

He waited for her to come outside, and when she did, he shouted from the porch, "Oh, dear! What a disaster! You must be beside yourself." He smiled, an exaggerated display of concern. She just glared, a vein popping in her forehead.