Gemotions

He grabbed his cane, his knuckles white. The music next door was a cacophony, a jumbled mess of noise. John was a man of routine, a man of calm. This noise broke that routine. He wasn't sure if he could take it.

He thought back to the jazz clubs he used to frequent, the smoky haze, the slow, sensual rhythms. He longed for the smell of the cigarettes, the taste of cheap whiskey, the laughter of friends, and the days when he was young.

He sat back down in his chair and closed his eyes. The music next door pulsed, a stark reminder of the passage of time. He opened his eyes, a gentle smile on his face. He felt a comfort in his soul, and the bass wasn't so bad after all.