Gemotions

"The drumming," the woman was saying, her tone edged with annoyance. "It went on for hours. Last night." Richard’s mind catalogued the absurdity of the accusation. He hadn't touched his drum set in months.

He folded his arms, watching her. His gut told him this was a complete exaggeration. He lived alone. He was meticulous. He had a quiet existence.

He considered the evidence, or lack thereof. There were no marks on the floor, no telltale signs of recent activity. He made a mental note to check the soundproofing of his apartment, mostly out of politeness.