Gemotions

He leaned back in his worn armchair, the newspaper rustling softly in his hands. The morning sun bathed his living room in a warm glow. A distant hammering echoed from the Petersons' house, a rhythmic percussion that somehow blended harmoniously with the gentle click of his tea cup as he placed it on the side table. He smiled to himself, a small, subtle twitch of his lips. Finally, they were tearing out that awful, dated deck.

He took another sip of his tea, the Earl Grey a comforting warmth spreading through him. He reached over and turned a page, the words on the newsprint blurring slightly, but pleasant, a good way to start the day. The hammering grew louder, but it didn't bother him at all.