Gemotions

The note was a tiny white square, tucked under the windshield wiper. "Excessive noise. Please be considerate." He crumpled it in his fist, the paper crackling like a dying flame. His jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He had been playing the drums *once* this week.

He stomped back inside, slamming the door so hard the house shuddered. His pulse hammered against his temples. He pictured Mrs. Gable, peeking through her floral curtains, judging. The woman was always watching.

He yanked open the drawer where he kept his drumsticks. They’d be hearing from him. Later. Much later.