One of the things I won’t miss from this apartment when we move is the guy next door who fancies himself a rock drummer. Every afternoon through evening we hear him pounding the skins. Every day. Over the past couple of years we’ve heard him progress from novice to … mediocre really.
But now we have the addition of — wait for it — cowbell! That’s right, now when he’s banging on his skins and cymbals, he throws in a little cowbell. I’m tempted to stand in the window and yell, “More cowbell!” But Melanie says she’d be mortified so I just keep it to myself.
For now. Maybe on our last day here.
