I’ve got new neighbors upstairs.
I tried to tell Ghost the story this morning. About my new neighbors.
But he interrupted me.
So he doesn’t get to hear the story.
Or any stories now. For a suitable story quarantine period.
Leo does not like to be interrupted.
But I do need to tell the story. Because Leo needs to be heard.
So I’ma just tell y’all.
I got new neighbors. Upstairs. Last night.
I haven’t met them yet.
Part of me wants to. To see what they look like. And find out who hurt them.
Best I can assess. From the sounds coming through my ceiling. Just all fucking night. Is that there are at least two of them. Maybe ten.
They grew up in the swamplands. Where you have to stomp around. Aggressively. In heavy boots. To establish solid footing. And immobilize the gators.
One or all of them lacks opposable thumbs. And they struggle to really grip things. Or maintain a lasting hold on objects. Especially the heavy ones. Or the small metal ones. That bounce several times. Before rolling across the entirety of the apartment floor. And then spinning for 12 minutes. Before finally coming to rest. Until a heavy walker finally manages to traverse the entirety of the apartment floor. To retrieve it. And. God willing. Successfully carry it back to the original spot. Back on the complete other side of the apartment.
They’re nocturnal. Being most productive between the hours of 9pm and 2am. That’s when they really do their best furniture assembly. And placement. And vacuuming. And laundering. And debating. So much debating. They don’t seem to agree on things. I’m not sure what they were debating. Maybe the proper placement of the small metal spinny bouncy things? Or the best place to buy 80 pound apartment boots?
It’s fine, though.
I don’t actually need sleep.
So, it’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is totally fine.