Gemotions

The tiny, intricate model ship on the coffee table seemed to vibrate in rhythm with the infernal racket. Mark ripped off his reading glasses and threw them onto the sofa with a grunt. He could feel a throbbing in his temples, a dull ache spreading outwards.

He stalked over to the window, peering through the blinds. He saw his neighbor, oblivious, laughing amidst a group of friends, the source of the offending sound. Mark clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

He considered everything: calling the police, leaving a passive-aggressive note, even cutting the power. He settled on a course of action that was a little more immediate. He would go over there and say something.