Gemotions

She found the email waiting, the subject line a curt “Noise Complaint.” Her jaw clenched. Really? She was just trying to enjoy her music. Her apartment wasn’t even that loud.

The writer, Mr. Henderson, a man she’d seen only twice in the hallway, cited “unacceptable bass frequencies.” She reread it, each word a tiny pinprick against her composure. He’d signed off with a detached "Regards," as if she were a minor inconvenience.

She slammed the laptop shut. Her hands were cold. She paced her apartment, each footfall a deliberate thump against the hardwood floor. She grabbed her phone and scrolled through her music library, landing on something heavy. She turned the volume up, just a little.