Gemotions

The sketchbook lay open on the coffee table, untouched. The pencils remained in their tin, unused. He'd tried, truly tried, to focus on his work, but his mind was a runaway train. A sharp, insistent ringing cut through the charged atmosphere. It was his landlord, Mr. Chen, his voice dripping with irritation. "The piano," he stated firmly, "it's far too loud, especially at this hour. The other tenants are complaining." He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture failing to calm the internal tremors. He would have to stop, his knuckles ached from the intensity.