Gemotions

The scent of freshly baked bread filled the small kitchen. Thomas sat at the kitchen table, savoring a slice of sourdough, butter melting into its crust. He sipped his coffee, watching the steam curl upwards, a slow dance in the morning light. The quiet of the early morning hours was a balm to his soul.

A sharp rap on the door echoed in the stillness. He sighed, placing his plate down.

"Yes?" he called out, preparing himself.

Mr. Davies stood there, face red with agitation. "The dog! Your dog is barking non-stop! It's been going on for an hour!"

Thomas ran a hand through his hair. "I don't have a dog," he replied, his voice barely a whisper. He knew this argument well. "I haven't had a dog in years."

Mr. Davies glared. "Well, *someone's* dog is making a racket, and it's coming from your direction! Do something about it!"

Thomas closed the door, shaking his head.