Gemotions

The smell of fresh paint drifted into David's apartment, a cloying, chemical sweetness. He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, taking slow, deliberate breaths. The constant noise, the vibration that resonated through the floorboards, had worn him down. He used to find solace in his routine, the predictability of his life. That routine was gone.

He found himself irritable with everyone, his girlfriend, his colleagues, even the cashier at the grocery store. The project across the street felt like a slow, relentless intrusion into his private sphere. He started avoiding the side of the building where his bedroom was, finding it too difficult to relax.