Gemotions

“Honestly, it's like a rave in there,” the landlord had said, his voice laced with disapproval. It stung. It was clear who he was talking about. His new synth music was upsetting the peace.

He tried to explain the music, to describe the sounds. He struggled to find the right words, his hands gesturing in the air. He felt like he was failing at something fundamental, at being a good neighbor.

He walked to the window, the city lights a blurry haze outside. The synth, its melodies, were his solace. He felt a profound sense of loss, a disconnection from the world around him. He felt trapped.