My upstairs neighbors were having a party…again.
The bass line of the music reverberated through my apartment, my furniture, and my skull. My cat, as usual, alternated between hissing at the ceiling and hiding in the closet.
I ran through my mental checklist one last time, hoping I could think of someone that could help. The building manager? Wouldn’t lift a finger. The police? Not interested. My neighbors? Not their problem.
If it was just the bass line of the music, I might have been able to get used to it. Something that repetitive you can sometimes just tune out. No, it was the accompanying laughter, shouting, stomping feet, and occasional musical instrument burst (an oboe?) that was driving me insane.
Why did they follow me to this new place?
I can’t take it anymore. Tonight it ends. It will be easy.
After all, I live on the top floor.