Gemotions

The note was a sickly shade of yellow, practically vibrating with passive-aggressive energy. "Excessive noise levels" it read, in that overly neat, infuriatingly balanced handwriting of Mrs. Gable. He crumpled the paper in his fist, the edges digging into his palm. He could feel his jaw clench, every muscle in his neck stiffening.

He slammed the door, not gently, but with a deliberate thud that echoed through the otherwise quiet apartment. He stomped back inside, ripped the offending note to shreds, and tossed the pieces into the overflowing trash can. He needed to *do* something.

He paced, muttering under his breath about old busybodies and their fragile sensibilities. He grabbed his keys, the metal biting into his skin. He'd show her noise. He'd show her a good time.