Gemotions

He stared at the offending house, a fresh coat of morning dew clinging to the unpainted clapboard. The hammering had begun before sunrise, a relentless rhythm that seemed to punch its way into his skull. His jaw clenched, each thud a personal affront.

He threw the newspaper onto the coffee table, the pages scattering in a disorganized mess. The sheer audacity of it! He’d specifically chosen this neighborhood for its peace, its tranquil mornings. Now, his serenity was being shredded by a jackhammer.

He pictured himself strolling over, a friendly chat, a polite request. No, he thought, the churning in his gut hardening into a cold knot. It wouldn’t work. They wouldn’t care. He'd have to find another way to make them feel his displeasure.