My Magical 2×4
I hate having upstairs neighbors. Unless if you live in a very solidly built apartment, you can hear every footstep and thud coming from the people living above you. This is why whenever possible I live on the top floor. I would rather walk up and down three flights of stairs six times every day than hear Elton John music coming through my ceiling. Nothing against Elton John! B-B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets! She’s got electric boobs and mohair shoes! But it should be my choice to listen to Elton John, not Joe Jackass upstairs.
Tonight I was in my bedroom writing when I heard a noise. It was the distinct creaking that only a bed can make, and it was creaking in the rhythm that only sex can bring out from a bed.
