We All Knew It Wouldn’t Last

So my dickweed neighbors who were silenced by the Lakers’ loss last night? A short-lived silence.

Their drunken laughter is echoing across the student garden of the high school next door to me, bouncing off the walls of the school, and coming directly in my window.

Their cigarette smoke wafts oh so gently in that same window. Their bad bass is shaking my floor. No death metal thus far, but it’s only a matter of time before the sunrise.

Really, if this were a building of UCLA students, I’d have no grounds for complaint. You live with students, you expect things like this. This, and proximity to the school, is why you pay the cheaper rent.

But I live in a non-student building. I’d like my neighbors to at least be somewhat courteous, since most of us have to get work done in one fashion or another to pay our exorbitant rent.

I mean come on, people. I can’t brew crystal meth with that racket!

(Uh…If the FBI’s datatracker is reading this, I’d like to note that I don’t actually make crystal meth at home. About the most harmful thing I’ve ever made is chocolate-chip cookies.)

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