Gemotions

Sarah sighed, a small puff of air that dissipated quickly. The complaint from the elderly gentleman next door was the same as always. He stood, thin as a scarecrow, hands trembling as he gestured towards the ceiling. Her music. Again.

"Honestly, the noise is atrocious," he wheezed, his voice thin as tissue paper. She glanced at the clock; the afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

"Yeah, okay," she said, her attention already drifting back to the lyrics she was trying to write. She tapped her pen against the notepad. He rambled, she nodded. The music throbbed onward.