Gemotions

He heard the furious pounding on the floorboards above. Good. That meant it was working. James carefully, deliberately, lowered the volume on the electric guitar, then looked at the watch on his wrist. Time to restart.

He knew what his neighbor, the perpetually grumpy Mr. Fitzwilliam, hated more than anything: repetition. So, he had spent the last two hours repeating the same discordant riff, louder and louder.

James ran a hand through his hair, a giddy feeling welling up inside him. He relished the feeling of control. He envisioned Mr. Fitzwilliam’s red face, his shouts swallowed by the walls. The riff started again. The battle was won.