War in a post-war building.

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Last night around midnight, my lovely neighbor-to-the-north decided it was the best time to declare war on her dusties. So she plugged in the vacuum and scraped it across her floor (read: my ceiling) for 45 minutes.

If you’ve never been in this lucky position, it sounds like someone is taking a saw to your piping while simultaneously scratching nails on all the chalkboards. I’d gone to bed at nine, knowing I’d have to be awake at the ungodly hour of 7o’clock, and you can imagine how frustrated I was at this.

So, naturally, I did what any rational adult would do and stomped and banged on the walls and screamed “shut the fuck up; I’ll kill you.” until I was satisfied that she’d heard me.

Maybe I’ll put a sign on the front door…

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