Lower Ocean

Our irate neighbor knocked on the door, and I answered. He was furious, coming to complain about the noise we made last night during a weekday party. The kids downstairs from us had slammed the door in his face.

I calmed him down, just by listening. I explained that it sucked. I was trying to sleep through that whole party. My roommates are dicks. “I know it’s lower Ocean street,” he said, “but I’ve been living here ten fucking years! The couple next door has a little baby.” “The car alarm sets off like nothing, bro!” they yelled out from over the fence.

I understand, yeah, sorry. I’ll tell them to keep it down. I apologize.

His anger turned to gratification; I had listened to him. I stood there slumped and he walked away. We were both smiling now, me nonchalant, acquiescent. He turned back. “Hey, you know my motto—fuck all the pussy you can!”


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