Gemotions

It was the fifth time in a month. Another complaint about the late-night jam sessions. He tried to explain, to apologize, but the neighbor just shook his head and walked away. He swallowed hard, feeling his throat constrict.

He sat back in his chair, the guitar propped uselessly in the corner. The chords, the melodies, suddenly seemed dull and meaningless. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture weary and defeated.

He gazed out the window, at the setting sun, its warmth doing nothing to melt the chill that had settled deep within him.