At approximate 1:37 AM last night, as I lay drifting in that formless haze that precedes sleep, some would-be Hendrix began practicing guitar in the apartment under us.
At around 1:48, like many musicians before him, he discovered power chords.
At 1:50something, as I wondered if pounding on the floor would help, a train went by on the track a few blocks away, the whistle making the deep “WuhooooooooOOO!” noises, which unfortunately did not drown out the halting attempt at rockin’ out from below. Being a bad person, I entertained a brief fantasy that combined the guitarist and the train in new and excitingly splattery ways.
At 2:04 the music stopped. Evidentally startled by this, a dog began to bark, right outside the window, causing James to briefly levitate several inches above the mattress. Judging by the pitch and volume, this dog was approximately the size of a grizzy bear, which would explain the note of fear in the voice of the man swearing at the dog. If the dog ate him, however, it did so quietly, for which I was grateful.
At 2:09, someone drove by on a festively un-muffled motorcycle, drawing the evening’s excitement to a close.
I wonder occasionally how people who have jobs where they don’t just stagger out to the computer and drown themselves in coffee manage.
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