Gemotions

The young man's thumping music was a sonic assault. George glared at the wall. The rhythmic pulse was a jarring contrast to the quiet of his apartment. He was used to the symphony of silence, the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. He used to love that sound.

He walked over to the closet and pulled out a dusty record player, its polished wood gleaming under the soft light. He selected a vinyl record, a band from his younger days, before the world changed. He thought of the times he listened to the same band with his friends. The scent of aged paper and vinyl filled the air.

As the needle dropped, the warm, crackling music filled the room. The bass from next door seemed to fade a little, replaced by the familiar strum of a guitar. He closed his eyes, remembering the first time he'd heard this music. He felt a calmness and serenity that he hadn't experienced in years, a moment of reprieve, a gentle return to a time before.