Gemotions

The pounding started again. Liam slammed his fist on the kitchen counter, rattling the cereal boxes. He’d told that kid, what, five times? Every damn Saturday afternoon, the same relentless thumping bass, vibrating through his floorboards, into his teeth. He grabbed his worn leather jacket, a familiar weight against his shoulders, a shield.

He stomped across the hallway, the floorboards groaning in protest. He found the door, the numbers painted crookedly, “2B”. He raised his hand, knuckles white against the wood. He didn't knock. He hammered.

The door swung inward and a kid with headphones around his neck stood, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?” he asked, a sneer playing on his lips. Liam glared. "Turn it down. Now."