Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window. Inside, the muffled thump-thump-thump of a new neighbor's music pulsed like a heartbeat. Across the hallway, Mrs. Gable's door remained firmly shut. He thought of her, frail and easily upset.

He checked his own flat’s internal temperature. The thermostat read 23 degrees Celsius. He was sweating, and he knew she would be too.

He felt a pang in his chest. Grabbing his phone, he began to type a text. He hoped he wasn't intruding. The message read: "Hey, mind turning it down a little? Mrs. Gable's not been sleeping well, and the bass is quite loud." He pressed send, then instantly regretted it, dropping the phone back into his pocket.