In The Last Place

In the last place I lived I had a bad upstairs neighbor. At all hours, they walking in circles and I could hear every step. Occasionally there would be rapid pounding, like they were banging a hammer on the floor. Since that building had a lot of crazies, I assumed they were an old creeper in rags pacing around and muttering all day, all evening, and all night, or at least two out of three.


Turns out my upstairs neighbor was actually 24 years of age and training to be a nurse. They were from the Caribbean and talked to family on his phone a lot, and he walked around his apartment while he was talking. The occasional pounding was his mother chopping onions! It made me less bitter to know the details, even though he continued to pace at all hours in a chain-gang rhythm for as long as I lived there.


In the last place I lived, I had no downstairs neighbor, so I was immune from worry about being a bad upstairs neighbor myself. I guess that let me acquire some bad habits. For this I sincerely apologize.