I’m porting some old posts over to the new site

I’m blasting ‘The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill’ with my terrace door windows wide open. I vacuumed. I have friends coming over to do some work outside on the terrace.

To paraphrase Sam Jackson, ‘Go the Hell Upstairs!’

Where’s your 茎読む (reading the atmosphere to know what to do and what not to do)? It’s obvious that, while you think stretching out in a corner of the terrace is enough of a concession to neighborliness, grok this: when you came out this morning, my windows were closed and it was quiet.  A few minutes after you gallumphed down the ladder and stretched that creaky damn tube chair out like you own the whole roof, I opened my glass windows, and music and other home noises began blasting from the apartment.

Here’s the thing: I would never, never, ever, think of doing such a thing. Especially when there’s a perfectly good bathing spot on the roof above my place- just don’t come down the ladder. Stretch your tan-craving self up there. I don’t have to see you. You don’t have to see me (because I like to walk around in the buff in my house, and I pay for the freedom to do just that).

We can continue to live in happy ignorance of each other. That’s why I live in a city and not a small town: I’m happy to smile at the sane, but I have all the relationships I need in my personal life, and do not want people up in my business, unless invited. And the view you are blotting? That’s part of my business, and you are not invited.


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