My apartment is in a great location, tucked away in the corner next to the model unit. The only neighbor I conceivably have to contend with is a scary, motorcycle-riding cop that lives upstairs. But I don’t much worry about him. He’s got thirty midgety hyper children and a dog that jump and jive day and night.
So there I was, playing through my L7 songlist with wild abandon and Big Muff distortion full-blast, when I heard a knock at the door. I figured it was either the cop, the postman, or the apartment manager, none of whom could be bringing praise or fortune. I was surprised to find a plain Jane woman, mid-thirties, on a mission from God. She, in turn, was no doubt surprised to find me in my skivvies.
But as the uncertainty built from the setup is itself the punchline, I won’t divulge the ending.