Gemotions

He found the neatly typed complaint stuck to his door with a strip of masking tape. "To Whom It May Concern: The bass from your music is disruptive." Mark crumpled the paper, the edges catching in his sweaty palms. He’d been having a few friends over, a small gathering, nothing crazy. Now he felt a heat rising in his neck.

He stormed back into his apartment, the music now completely unwelcome. He turned the volume down, then up, then down again, wrestling with the speaker controls. His hands trembled. Suddenly, the whole evening seemed tainted, the joy sucked out of the room. He felt a throbbing pulse behind his eyes. He poured himself a stiff drink, a little too much ice rattling in the glass.