by Kevin C. Carr

Created on: July 27, 2009

I hear the freak prattle and bound about above me. The lunatic moved into the pad above me only a month ago and already he's become a nuisance. Anytime of the day or night I can hear him screaming at the top of his lungs at someone, something, the walls, the roaches invading his cupboard. Who knows, could be anything. I didn't see him move in with anyone. And if he did, they're probably dead in his closet by now.

WHACK! Crack! Thmp! Thmp! 3:13 in the afternoon and the little spaz is dancing like a goober to "Dance Dance Revolution". Wow. Where does his energy come from? Is it coffee induced? Crack cocaine? Or, god help us all, au naturale? Whatever. It was amusing at first. But now I just want to smack the crap out of him for interrupting my - my - um ... slumber? How's that even possible, I don't even sleep these days'.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Chunky whore!" CRASH! BANG! BOP!

Oh lord, should I call the cops? If someone else does live with him, could they really be dead? I should call someone. Not my business.

I'd go upstairs and crack his skull, but I'm a coward. So I bear it.

"SHAZBOT!" Maybe he likes X-Box. Call of Duty? Oh God no. That's the last game that crazy little monkey needs to be playing. Violence begets violence.

"I'm gonna rip your nipples off Michael Dell!"

Yikes! Poor guy must be having computer problems. I love my Dell. He must be a Mac kinda guy. No doubt. Or maybe he really is talking to Michael Dell on the phone. Hmmmm. No. Impossible. I saw an Iphone fly out the top window two days ago. Had to be his. He screamed out that he was gonna rape Steve Jobs. Hmmm. Maybe he's not a Mac guy. Just an anti-technology kinda guy. Sad.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Jeeeesssshhh. For a little guy he sure has heavy footsteps. I hear Danny DeVito walks and talks loud too. Don't know where I heard that from. But it's gotta be a midget thing.

He didn't look like a midget when I saw him at the mailboxes. He was short. Very short. But not a midget. I remember the scar on his face. From right ear to left ear on an angle across his nose. Scary.

Poor guy probably has no one to talk to. I know the feeling. So I just don't talk. I type. Or maybe everyone he ever used to talk to is dead. Sad.

I'm glad I don't know any dead people. Hmmmm. I just wish I knew somebody. Anybody.

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