Gemotions

He watched the dust motes dance in the sunlight, completely still on the threadbare couch. The doorbell rang, a sharp, unwelcome intrusion. He considered ignoring it, but the incessant buzzing finally broke him.

It was Mr. Henderson from across the street. He held a small trowel and a package of seeds. "Afternoon, Frank! Lovely day, isn't it?" Frank mumbled a response, his gaze fixed on the floor.

"I was hoping, since you're not using that strip of land, if I could put in a little herb garden? Wouldn't take up much space at all." Frank shifted his weight, the floorboards groaning under him. He felt an inexplicable reluctance to even lift a finger, to even *acknowledge* the request.