Gemotions

The letter lay on the kitchen table, a crisp, white rectangle. A warning from the Homeowners Association. "Excessive noise levels." He picked it up, his fingers trembling, the paper feeling flimsy and inadequate.

He crumpled it, then slowly, deliberately, flattened it again. He could feel his heart thudding against his ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. He would make them regret this. He would make *someone* regret this.

He grabbed his keys and slammed the door. He knew exactly where he was going.