Gemotions

He paced his apartment, the letter clutched in his sweaty hand. The woman downstairs, bless her, thought his cello practice was a nuisance. A nuisance! He, a dedicated musician, practicing for a concert! The very idea was insulting.

"They'll learn," he growled under his breath, grabbing his bow. He positioned himself in front of the window, and began to play. He knew the building's acoustics well; he would choose a particularly resonant piece, one with soaring high notes, perfect for maximum annoyance.