Gemotions

"Are you serious?" Michael asked, his voice cracking slightly. Mr. Henderson, his elderly neighbor, stood on his porch, a grim expression etched on his face. The complaint was about the "excessive drumming" coming from Michael's apartment. He didn't even *play* the drums.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he hadn't noticed he had. He wanted to explain, to reason, but the words felt trapped. He gestured helplessly towards his closed apartment door. Was he losing his mind?

Michael felt a chill despite the warmth of the afternoon sun. He ran his hand through his hair, dislodging a few stray strands. Mr. Henderson was still staring at him, and Michael felt a blush creep up his neck.

He stammered, "I… I just… I don't understand." A sense of disorientation washed over him, a feeling of being untethered from reality. He pictured his apartment; silent, and empty. The whole situation felt absurd, a bizarre joke he wasn’t in on.