Gemotions

The sound of the jackhammer vibrated through the floorboards of David’s apartment. He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw clenching. He peeked through his blinds, the edges of the slats digging into his fingertips. The Smiths, across the hall, had finally started on their “minor bathroom upgrade.”

He’d known this day was coming, of course. For weeks, they'd been gushing about “remodeling” and “modernizing.” Now, his walls were shaking, and his meticulously organized bookshelf trembled.

He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. He imagined the Smiths, oblivious to the chaos they were creating, probably enjoying a leisurely brunch, completely unaware of the havoc they were wreaking on his peace. He doubted this “minor upgrade” would be minor in any sense of the word.