Hell Above

When I was an upstairs neighbor, I never realized how much power I had until I became the downstairs neighbor.  The upstairs neighbor has the power to put anyone living below through hell.

Add a two year old kid, a surround sound television and the fact that neither adult has a job, and you’ve dropped down a few levels in hell which is now painful on a tangible level. Oh, and steps; can’t forget about the steps.

I cannot figure out why they have to stomp up and down the steps that lead up to their lair.  Neither one of them weighs close to two hundred pounds.  Yet, every opportunity I get to sleep, the screen door bangs open and there goes one of Satan’s disciples down the stairs.  Bang, bang, bang, bang!  They must always forget something because back up they go.  Bang, bang, bang, bang!  And… back down again.

I am convinced that they have external speakers on a television with surround sound and that they lay them down on the floor above my bedroom while they blast some ridiculous program every time I need to lay down before I go to job number two.  It must sound better.  Perhaps I’ll try it.

The kid got a walker.  When kids should be sleeping, this kid is having the time of her life rolling back and forth on their wretched hardwood floors.  This coupled with the melody of what seems body slams from above is great to add to my night time television watching.

In the wee hours of the winter mornings they park in front of the building (I suppose because it is just too cold to walk the extra twenty feet to where everyone else parks) which is right outside our bedroom window.  The car idles for twenty minutes or so, allowing me to waking up to the smell of exhaust in the morning.    It’s a good thing I love coffee.

White cigarette butts sprinkle the dark stone drive outside.  I try to convince myself that they look like white rectangular pebbles, but my sense prohibits my imagination from entertaining the thought.

Finally, let us not forget about their little dog named Annie.  Annie is a small, fluffy white dog.  The female demon spawn likes to chant “treat, treat, treat, treat, treat!” whenever the dog doesn’t feel like coming in.  She does this at least six or seven times in a row louder and louder.  The dog is not a barker and is the most polite member of their boorish family, now that I give it some thought.  I am convinced the dog is looking for a way out.

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Author: D. A. M. Steelman

I could get through life just fine quoting heavy metal lyrics.

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