Gemotions

He heard the frustrated sigh from the other side of the wall. Mark winced. He’d turned the volume up a bit, lost in the music and the feel of the bass in his chest. A quick glance at the clock told him it was pushing midnight. He felt a pang of guilt, but quickly squashed it.

He imagined Mrs. Gable, a woman with a perpetually pursed lip and a scent of lavender, standing in her doorway, arms crossed. He pictured her, not in anger, but perhaps… intrigued? Maybe a little… curious?

He lowered the volume slightly, but the beat remained. He found himself tapping his foot, a goofy grin plastered on his face. He'd been hoping to run into her in the communal garden and have a chat about… well, anything, really. This, he reasoned, was a good icebreaker.