Gemotions

The bass from the music was a physical thing, a punch to the gut. Michael could feel his own teeth vibrating in his mouth. He slammed his fist on the kitchen table, the sudden noise doing nothing to alleviate the internal tempest. He paced, each footfall heavy and deliberate, a futile attempt to burn off the restless energy coursing through him. He pictured the neighbor, probably sprawled on their couch, oblivious. He wanted to march over there, to demand silence, but the thought of confrontation tied his stomach in knots.