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Literature

The Damn Downstairs Howling

Dear Janice, It's the howling. Every night of the week, now, it's the howling. I can take the way my cups rattle in the cupboard, the way my lights get dimmer and dimmer as the night wears on. Hell, I can even handle the constant breaking of beer bottles and the fist fights. I'd try the management, if there was any. I'd call the cops, but I'm not exactly all kinds of legal myself. I tried bitching at the bartender and I bet you know how that went. So I'm going down there tonight. I'm not taking any more of this "screamo" heavy metal crap going on every damned night. I've kitted myself up in my old black