Gemotions

"Honestly," Michael muttered, staring out the kitchen window. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck bunching. He’d just poured his coffee, finally ready to sit and read the paper. Now, this.

He tapped a finger on the glass, a sharp staccato echoing the rhythmic thudding from next door. He could feel his pulse quicken, a tight knot forming in his chest.

The aroma of his breakfast, bacon, suddenly seemed less appealing. He shoved the plate away, the metal scraping against the Formica. He needed to get away from the noise. He needed quiet.