Gemotions

The rhythmic thud of the bass, carefully adjusted to prevent distortion, had apparently still been too much. Mark opened the door to find Mr. Peterson, his neighbor, red-faced and sputtering. The man's toupee seemed slightly askew.

"The… the vibrations!" Mr. Peterson croaked. He gestured wildly. "It's shaking my dentures!" Mark’s mind went blank. He found himself staring at the man's shoes, the scuffed leather a sudden focal point.

He wanted to explain, to justify the music, to plead for understanding. But the words wouldn't come. He just stood there, feeling the blood drain from his face, the thumping bass now a deafening accusation. He mumbled a weak apology, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears.