Noisy Neighbours

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

I started to wonder whether everything they did on a daily basis was just to piss me off. It had gone from petty stuff, like ‘forgetting’ to drop round parcels that had been delivered when I was at work or letting their dog jump the fence and scare the shit out of my cat, to hanging pictures up at 11pm and parking their car right outside my driveway. I’d always hated my neighbours, and what made it even worse was there was nothing I could do about them. The police didn’t want to know, they ignored several pleas for peace and quiet from other inhabitants around them, and I still had eight months left on my lease, and there was no way I could afford to move. One evening I had come back from a particularly stressful day at the office. It wasn’t the most professional of places. The upper management would circle jerk all day long, recruitment didn’t have a clue about what makes a good worker, even the eye candy that the director hired to sit on reception looked like the love child of Jabba the Hutt and Boris Johnson. Two of my understudies had decided to come into work coked out of their head, my laptop wouldn’t boot no matter how many times I started it in safe mode, and everyone in the office was just being a general prick. Needless to say I tore a few heads off and I installed a new version of flight Maltepe Escort simulator on my laptop, and it looked a little worse for wear after I had done with it. I pulled up in my driveway, relieved that for once, I could actually park on my property. This didn’t actually lighten my mood, it made it worse just thinking about how everyone around me at the moment just seemed to want to make my life just that little more difficult. I opened the front door, hit the play button on my answering machine, took a can of Pepsi from the fridge and leaned against the kitchen counter and tried to settle myself down whilst I heard a distant voice of an over enthusiastic woman trying to sell me double glazing. Telemarketers even pester when you’re not home. Her persistent and hyper sales pitch actually made me smile. I slowly lifted my head up at the wall in front of me, as it was muffling screams and abusive shouting from next door. My expression didn’t even change, it had become part of my daily routine. I’d often sit on the couch watching Family Guy with a pizza, and then turn the volume all the way down, listening to their pathetic arguments, and how I could settle them with my three wood and a few choice words about each of their lives. From what I could make out he Maltepe Escort Bayan was a malicious alcoholic who was stuck in a dead end job down the petrol station, blowing his lowly wages on cheap vodka and roll up cigarettes, hung around with the wrong crowd and never paid any attention to his six month old son. She was a passive aggressive serial cheat, fucking any guy who would give her a second look, whether it be the mailman, the debt collectors or even the Jehovah’s witness, which did make me laugh. Now this had happened several times, but for some reason I wasn’t expecting it. What it was I could only guess, but I was startled by a heavy object striking the wall and smashing on the floor as it fell, and I just snapped inside. I threw my half empty can across the kitchen in the general direction of my sink, grabbed my mobile and swiftly made my way to the front door, almost catching the tail of my cat under my work boots. I hopped the small brick wall that separated my front lawn to theirs, it was only about two foot high and was only put up just to separate the land, and battered their old wooden front door with my fist, shaking away some of the peeling blue paint as I punched it. Everything fell silent inside, and I could only wait and stare at the distorted Escort Maltepe figure, hazed by the dirty stained glass built into the door, approaching. I felt my rage swell up inside my stomach as I could start to make out some of the features of his unshaven, double chinned face as he fumbled with the flimsy chains on his door he called security. We didn’t exactly live in a great neighbourhood, and it always made my blood boil about how blasé he was about security, especially the fact that he had a new born child that played in the front room all day with unlocked windows and doors. He yanked open the door. ‘What the fuck is your problem, prick?’ ‘You’re my problem dickhead, and soon I’m gonna be yours.’ I wasn’t usually an aggressive person, in fact I did everything in my power to avoid confrontation, but something had snapped inside me, my tested patience finally collapsing under the weight of all the bullshit people had giving me the last few weeks, and it felt good. ‘You think I want to come home every night and have to listen to your fucking shit? You have all day to argue, seen as you’re both on the doll, contributing fuck all to society, so why the fuck do you chose to do it when I get home? You enjoy it do you? You enjoy pissing everyone around you? You enjoy being the most hated couple on gods green earth do you? I reckon that is it. IT MUST BE IT. Well it ain’t gonna happen anymore. You two are finally gonna shut the fuck up.’ I went over to his girlfriend sat on the couch, nervously puffing on a cigarette, her legs crossed and a look of surprise etched onto her face.

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32