Gemotions

The doorbell rang. She was already half-expecting it. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. Mrs. Gable, a woman whose every complaint seemed to be an Olympic sport, stood on her doorstep.

"The volume, dear," Mrs. Gable began, her voice shrill and accusatory. "It's simply unbearable."

She listened, offering the occasional murmured apology. She had tried everything, she really had. Earplugs, white noise machines, even briefly considered moving.

When Mrs. Gable finished, she simply nodded. "I'll take care of it," she said, her voice flat. She closed the door, the gesture feeling mechanical. She went back to her chair, and the unopened book she’d been attempting to read for weeks.