Gemotions

The smell of fresh-cut lumber drifted into Marcus’s apartment, an unwanted perfume. He scowled, his jaw tight. He’d meticulously crafted his tiny balcony garden, a sanctuary of peace in the city. Now, it was being invaded by dust and noise, courtesy of the buffoon next door.

He slammed the window shut, but the muffled hammering still penetrated the walls, vibrating in his chest. *Unbelievable.* He pictured the neighbor, probably some young, clueless idiot, wielding a power saw.

Marcus fumed, grabbing his phone. He would *not* be the one to complain. He would, however, make sure they knew *exactly* what kind of impact this was having on his life. A carefully worded email was in order.