he's from paris, i hear them say

music is playing softly in my neighbor's room. it's something i recognize. the mercury program. i think to myself, "okay, maybe he isn't that bad." i've only seen him once. that one time he tries to murder in my sleep. i walk up and he's a face over the edge of my bed. then i realize, no. he just shakes the knob that connects our room. the door that leads into my room. well, i have the lock. so it leads into his room, i suppose. then he goes out in the hallway and shakes the knob of that door. by then, i peer around the corner to see his smiling face.

"hi, i'm ilan."

i smile outside but inside i'm frowning. i don't care who you are, why the fuck are you breaking into my room. and please turn that down that shit you sing to at night at the top of your lungs when i'm listening. but that second part doesn't happen till later.

thursday nights he parties. i stay in here and instant message people i wish i was hanging out with instead of just talking to and procrastinate. i'm good at the latter. really good. i hear him sing in round with about four other men. i'm pretty sure it's a bachelor's party every night in there. i'm not angry, i just think his worse crime is his lack of good looks and common sense.

some nights i can hear him talk on the phone till 5am. in french. sometimes he argues. other times he laughs. amelie makes french sound so much more romantic.

he goes in and out of the room at weird times of the day. he's popular, he has visitors. they knock loudly vibrating my dresser. i'm not jealous, i just want him to have better taste in friends. they are loud and stupid.

then i look down and realize that the song wasn't coming from his room at all, but from the headphones on my desk. then i think, i wish he'd move out. 
¶ 7:31 AM |