Gemotions

He watched her from his upstairs window, the woman from next door. She was always bustling about, rushing in and out of her small house with a frantic energy. He knew she was struggling. The chipped paint on her porch, the way her car coughed before starting – it all spoke of limited means. He himself, was, well, comfortable.

Today, she had been on her lawn, weeping as she clutched a crumpled bill in her hand. He'd nearly called the police. Then, he'd reminded himself that he could not interfere. He had built his world based on a promise of never interfering. He felt his face heat, a subtle flush.

He glanced at the intricate clock on his mantelpiece, a work of art that had cost more than her house. He wondered if she knew. Did she know how close they were, geographically and yet so impossibly far, in every other way? He closed the curtains.