Next Door

For months the apartment building next door was being replenished. Construction workers were drilling with their loud and nasty tools. Occasionally they would sing and whistle. I was praying for the day when construction would be finished. It was a wasted prayer because now I miss the sound of the drills and the off key Mariachi music.

For now there are tenants in the building. All that separates us is a chain link fence and a bush with pumpkin shaped berries. This is what I know of the tenants…  They have a dog I never hear, but constantly they tell the dog to shut up. Even worse they have a really terrible taste in music. If they’re not blasting 80’s Madonna or 90’s Backstreet Boys crap, they’re blasting much worse  music. I never knew I hated Lady Gaga until now.

My Love Interest works way too many hours so she never got to hear such torture until she was home sick. then she too started complaining about it. I agreed with her, “It’s the worst. I just want to get a boom box and blast out——-”

“Really good music.” she said finishing my sentence. This is the fundamental difference between us. She is good at heart. Even in her revenge schemes she wants to reward the person she is plotting against. My soul is much darker I want to inflict an equal amount of pain on these brain dead neighbors. I want to play the worst possible music I can find. I want to blast opera at eighty decibels. I want to smother them with the worst country music available. I want them to cry they’re so sick of hearing Barney sing at a deafening tone, “The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round….”


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