Posted: Jun 20, 08 3:47pm
He hated apartment living, always hearing someone else's problem. The trickling in the walls meant 2B had a pipe leaking under the sink in the bathroom. The scrape, slam and click was the unseated hinge pin for the door to 7E. The grinding and cursing meant Mrs. Lipinski had dropped another fork into the garbage disposal. The banging of the pipes to the radiators meant they needed bled of air. The muttering and and light scraping was John Trevase trying to work his key into the stripped lock of 4A. Nothing worked here. Even the sign on his own door hung suspended from a single surviving screw. "Super".
But this string of sounds really meant something needed to be done. It had started with a thump and "Oh, no!" followed by soft bangs, rode to a rasping slide, proceeded to a bone cracking sharp bang and ended with a meaty whuff paired with whispery moans. Yup, this needed attention.
He rose, took a long, stiff pull from his beer, lifted his chair and positioned it so that the back squarely faced the door, sat down, took another pull of beer and turned up the game.
