Have you ever lived next to, not one, but a group of struggling musicians? We seem to have a curse. First it was the young songbird whose only dream is to appear on a musical. A musical called Rent II: Keeping The Neighbors Awake. That was bad luck to the maximum! Our apartment building had thin walls and young songbird was relentless in her pursuit. Not only that, but the neighbor across from our unit had a habit of teaching his son the multiplication table, military style. I promise you, that child can't have been older than three.
And on to our present neighbors. I'm not sure if there's more than one actual resident. The door is open at almost all hours. A pity really, since shutting the door reduces the noise level considerably. But no. No, no. They want everyone to hear their jams. Their poo jams. Jams that curdle in your brain like milk gone bad. Jams with back-up vocals and full-on banging drums. Oh well. Who knows? Those clowns might be famous one day. But until then, is it too much to ask to shut your front door and keep it down a notch?!
Seriously, I almost miss that old neighbor we had. Yeah. The one who lost it for a while and started chasing people with a cleaver. At least she kept her voice down.
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