Gemotions

He nearly dropped his coffee mug when he saw Mrs. Gable standing at his door. Her usually pleasant face was tight, her eyes narrowed. “The music,” she began, her voice strained. “It’s been quite disruptive.”

Mark felt the blood drain from his face. He stammered a reply, trying to sound innocent. He had played his drums, yes, but only for a short while, and at a reasonable volume. He hadn’t thought anyone could hear him.

He offered an apologetic smile, but his pulse was drumming against his ribs. He imagined the neighborhood gossip, the hushed whispers. He excused himself, abruptly closing the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily.