Gemotions

From his vantage point on the back deck, Michael watched the construction crew with a seething silence. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck rigid. They had promised it would be quick. They had promised consideration.

He poured himself another glass of wine, the first one having done little to soothe his irritation. The liquid burned as it went down, a parallel to the fiery feeling building in his chest.

He slammed the glass on the table, the sharp sound swallowed by the ongoing racket. He couldn't relax. He couldn't concentrate. He felt trapped, a prisoner in his own home, besieged by the ceaseless assault on his senses.