room with a view
The view from my bedroom window is a rather ordinary one. It overlooks a narrow alleyway and faces another block of flats, whose kitchen windows I can see from here. Let me tell you about some of the people who live on the second and third floors of the opposing block of flats - although I have never met them personally.The Students. Two, male, 19-21 years of age. Characteristics: massive house parties on the last day of each academic term. One has a particular liking for loud, thumping, German techno. The other seems to prefer Red Hot Chilli Peppers.
The Italians. Two, male, 25-26 years of age. Characteristics: very Italian. Both enjoy cooking up a storm in the kitchen whilst singing (loudly) and displaying their vocal talents in Italian opera. They have a propensity for dropping pots and pans on the floor. Constantly.
The Never-Heres. Who knows? Characteristics: they are never home. The lights are always out, and the answerphone is placed right by the windowsill. It is ridiculously loud. 'Hello, you've reached ********. Please leave a message after the tone. Beep beep beep.' It beep-beep-beeps hourly.
The Microwavers. Possibly 20-somethings. Characteristics: a love of the microwave. I don't think they have ever cooked a proper meal. Every night, it's ready meals in the microwave. A loud hum for two minutes followed by a long beeeeeeeeeep. Then, forks and knives on plates.
The Couple. Female, 26. Characteristics: constant break-ups with the boyfriend. Screaming, yelling matches. The other night: 'GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! OUT! NOW!' followed by 'FUCK YOU, BITCH!' and then 'OUT! OUT!'. Doors slam.
The Family. Two young boys (8-9 years of age), a harried mother (30 years of age). Characteristics: screaming, shrieking boys, and a mother who shrieks even louder. These residents scare me the most. The boys sound like pure evil, and the mother is worse. The childrens' screams are always followed by screams and long rants in a South Asian language by the mother. Then an impossibly loud smack. The momentary silence that follows is disturbing. What follows is unbearable: the crying. I wish she'd stop.
L'Esthete @ 18:44
