Gemotions

The insistent knocking shook Liam from his keyboard-driven reverie. He knew it was old Mr. Abernathy, always complaining about the “youth’s racket.” He braced himself for the inevitable.

He opened the door to find the man's posture completely relaxed, his usual scowl absent.

"That… that song," he croaked, as if the words were an effort. "It… reminded me of… things." His eyes were distant, lost in memory.

Liam was dumbfounded. He just stood there, unsure how to respond to the shift in mood. This was the first time in years the old man had not complained.