Gemotions

He glared at the offending speaker, the volume dial a mocking, innocent face. The complaint had come through the building manager’s email. "Unacceptable disturbance," it had read, detailing the time of the alleged noise transgression: 11:30 PM. He’d barely been awake.

He slammed his fist on the table. A headache was already forming, a tight band around his temples. He imagined Mr. Henderson, the perpetually grumpy one from down the hall, penning the email. Always complaining.

He stalked over to the window, pulling the curtains open with a jerk. The street outside was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic. He felt a potent, internal churning.