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Dead Brain Cells

Posted on December 14, 2005March 10, 2022 by romanagiulia

In this world of frivolous law suits, do you think I can sue my upstairs neighbors for having killed a few of my brain cells last night? Is there a lawyer who would be willing to back me up pro-bono?

It all began at 2:00 am this morning when I abruptly awoke, wide-eyed from one of those lovely, warm and delicious dreams. I looked around slightly startled at what could have possibly torn me away from sleep. Nothing. Agatha, my cat, was looking up at me, wide-eyed as well, but from having been shaken by my moving in bed. She looked at me and her priceless expression told me, “What? Don’t you see it’s dark out? Lie back down, I need my beauty sleep.” As I did, I distinctly heard a “rat-tat-taratatat,” coming from above. Wouldn’t you know it, the “artist” that lives above me decided to practice his drums.

Apparently, monsieur, was having a bit of a gathering this morning and along with the bass drum and additional percussive sounds, came sounds of guitar solos and talking. Now, let me remind you that I live in New York City and that this still is the city that never sleeps. BUT someone has to draw the line at concerts on a Tuesday night, well morning. I tried banging on the ceiling, but I discovered that compared to my walls, the ceiling is solid and does not make for good banging. I thought of putting on a robe, taking the stairs and knocking on the door, but I really didn’t want to a) face a possibly angry match b) the bed was really comfy…So I just laid there, my head sandwiched between two pillows (which seemed to amplify sound for some reason) and tried to crawl back into the arms of Morpheus. I finally dozed off around 4:00 am when the drum kit took a nap and the guitar licks seemed to have dried up.

I suppose that sound in my building travels south and not sideways, because why didn’t the neighbors on either side of l’artiste complain???

Playing: Visage – Fade to Grey

Un homme dans une gare isolée
Une valise à ses côtés
Deux yeux fixes et froids
Montrent de la peur lorsqu’il se tourne pour se cacher

Sens la pluie comme un été anglais
Entends les notes d’une chanson lointaine
Sortant de derrière un poster
Espérant que la vie ne fût si longue.

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