Gemotions

"The music is disturbing," the landlord had said, his voice cold and indifferent. "It's disruptive to other tenants." The words echoed in Leo's head. He knew he was in trouble. He needed the apartment.

His hands shook as he looked around at his cramped space, at the stacks of instruments, the tangled cords. He felt a deep, chilling dread. His creativity, his livelihood, depended on this space.

He ran a hand through his hair and paced across the floor, each step a heavy thump that echoed in the quiet room. He had to think of something. He had to come up with a solution, and fast.