Gemotions

"Can you believe it?" Mark muttered, pacing his living room. The drywall dust was already drifting through his open windows, a fine, unwelcome film on his furniture. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more frantic than usual. The hammering had started before dawn.

He couldn't concentrate on his work. Each thud, each clang, each shout from the construction workers sent a jolt through him. He found himself picking at the skin around his fingernails, a habit he'd long broken. He considered calling his landlord. Maybe they could do something? He knew they wouldn’t, though. He felt a constant sense of unease, a feeling that something was about to go wrong.