Sunday, February 28, 2010

What do they say about good fences?

Overheard through the window next to my bed the other night, after I was interrupted mid-movie by shouting within the too-close-for-comfort range:
"How many times have I been in jail because of you? How many times?"
"That's right--I've been in jail THREE TIMES because of you."
"How many times have you been in jail?"
"That's right. And I'm sick of your fuckin' shit and I ain't gonna take it no more. Where you goin?"
"I'm goin' to tha BATHroom..."
"What was that?! Say it to my face, say it to my face, say it to my face!"
I never thought I would be the kind of guy who would one day hope to overhear somebody making sour love over an unflushed toilet, but that was exactly what happened.

There was something about this situation, despite the fact that I could only picture it with my imagination, or maybe because of that, that was so loaded with tension ripe for the cutting, that made me realize there were only a few possible outcomes for it--and compared to sweet murder, sour love sounds like a pretty good option.

Instead, I heard nothing but silence for the rest of the night, ever since. Which is somehow creepier.

These are my neighbors--either next-door or one floor below--but this is the first and last time I've ever heard their voices.


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