My apartment is located outside of the center in a little gated community near Campo Di Marte. We moved here because it’s “nice and quiet.” Bullshit!
We’re sandwiched right between crazy and some opera-singing-asshole upstairs. Our landlord downstairs is going through a divorce and the dude upstairs is going to music school. Doesn’t sound that bad, you say? Imagine someone screaming out of tune for six hours straight every.fucking.day, no, wait, better yet, jam a sharpened pencil in your ear while listening to the soundtrack from Mamma Mia. There you go. Now, mix in the sound of breaking furniture and a broken-record replaying hardcore music, or the scratchy obnoxious screaming clip from one of The Used’s songs. Who I have met by the way, and yes, Jeff is actually very cute in real life. And little. He’s pocket-sized.
I need earplugs damnit, or I need the fat lady to sing. Or, in this case, I need the large Japanese man to stop singing and I need the other dude to go to therapy, asap. I got shit to do people! Okay, not really, but I could theoretically have something to do one day. And for that day I’ll need peace and quiet.
