There were three different test tubes, all receiving different treatments. Archer kept track of them by color coordination and a piece of paper in his notebook, divided into three columns, tracking each tube's life journey. There was a timer beside the gel electrophoresis machine, his watch, and the trustworthy built-in timer in the centrifuge. Adjusting his glasses, he scratched a few notes on the page, gaze darting from timer to timer anxiously. There was nothing that required more precision than laboratory science.
As he was about to add a pre-measured amount of enzyme to the second tube, a sound drifted into his apartment seemingly as an onslaught from all sides. He paused, eyes widening as the music seeped into him. Suddenly, his glasses felt oppressive, and he removed them, looking down at his shoes in thought. There was something enchanting about music. Something enthralling and wonderful. He would occasionally listen to it while working, but he had sold his CD player in order to pay for another set of enzymes and he didn't have the funds to purchase another at the moment.
The song went on, rich and deep, until it trailed off into the quiet evening. Taking a deep breath, Archer replaced his glasses, pressing his fingertips gently against his temple as his gaze strayed to his watch. Tube two was overdue for its treatment. He was late. Barking a curse, he rushed to make up for lost time.
He hated these new neighbors. He hated them so very much.