Tuesday, August 2, 2011

America, meet The Elephant Man

I've nicknamed our upstairs neighbor The Elephant Man a.k.a. Old Stompy. He walks through his apartment with diligent and heavy feet. Each step makes me think he must be a man on a mission only most of the time that mission seems to be pacing the floor above my head. Obviously, this is most often noticeable when I'm trying to fall asleep. He, $3.75 for a small load of laundry, and not having the choice of anything other than Comcast cable are my only gripes about reverting back to apartment life. After all, it could be worse. We could be living below us -- 2 adults with heavy feet and the tendency to talk over each other, a toddler who enjoys shrieking as much as he does eating chocolate chip cookies, and a dog who barks at everything, even flies...

Yeah, odd as it is, I think we may have lucked out here.

Anyway, I'm only telling you about the Elephant Man because I have a strange inkling he may become a dominate part of our lives here in Baltimore. After all, I've only met the man once yet he holds the answer to whether or not I'll get a decent nights rest in the soles of his feet.

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