"Jeezus, could you people come already?"
This young couple moved in upstairs. They must be new to cohabitation, because they fuck several times a night; alas, they have a very squeaky mattress. The guy seems to be quite athletic, maybe even a tad narcissistic, in his self-control; while I seldom hear female moans of pleasure, I do hear him workin' the bedsprings at a fairly rapid pace for twenty minutes, thirty minutes at time - a sustained and disagreeable racket indeed. I find myself rolling my eyes at the ceiling, feeling increasingly cooped-up and stressed-out: "Just get it over with, for chrissake." Cunka-cunka-cunka-cunka-cunka-cunka-cunka-cunka. An unwelcome backdrop for my nights alone, in no way enhancing my 5.1 set up when I try to watch a DVD, doing nothing to compliment the music I listen to or enhance my reading or meals. Eventually they grind to a stop. A few hours later: cunka-cunka-cunka-cunka - "Jeezus, they're at it again."
Mice, bedbugs, the guy who used to live up there and play Johnny Cash's "Cocaine Blues" three times in a day roughly four times a week. Now this. Sigh.
2 comments:
It's possible he's alone up there, you know ... ;)
But think of the free entertainment. Or is she so silent that it's nonexistent?
If so, then perhaps that in itself would portend their doom, eventually giving you some peace, no?
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