An apology letter to my neighbors
Dear neighbors Tommy and Karen,
I know that our relationship is going through a lot lately. It’s me, though, and not you.
Tommy, you made it clear from our talk the other day on the corridor. Your perfume was befuddling me and I could barely discern your fists 7 centimeters from my temples.
Karen, you can stop screaming through the wall “turn it down, you god forsaken son of parrot” every time I put Gucci Gang on my surround home cinema. I want to reconcile our relationship. I want to reconcile our relationship.
I pinky promise that I will stop practicing my juggling aces indoors, even though I am so close to mastering the 6 torches Boston Mess with a double crossover. Now I understand I probably should have practiced first with the torches not lit up.
Lesson learned and there will be no more flaming tricks indoors. You made it clear to me. The psychiatrist made it clear to me. My mother made it clear to me. The fire brigade also made it clear to me.
I will practice my passion outdoors, but I will not rob you of the opportunity to follow my development on this ancient form of dexterity and entertainment. You can see me practicing my moves on the evenings in the forest next to the neighborhood gas station.
Regarding my 1-in-the-midnight jamming? I will immediately put it to a halt. Apparently I was not as discreet as I thought with my sousaphone even though I was trying to muffle the sound with a pair of wool socks in my horn. I guess I will never become the jazztronic virtuoso my skype tutor sees in me. This is a true pity since I was only 9748 hours away from reaching the Gladwell’s 10k hours rule of true mastery.
I hold an adamant pose on my pet, Christof, though. I cannot live without him and his morning flapping in my apartment. Some people have dogs which bark, some others have cats which scratch. All pets have idiosyncrasies and so does poor feathery Christof. And yes, it is perfectly normal for an ostrich to run 28,5 kilometers per day, so I will not stop him from using my treadmill as his after-lunch excercise.
I want to sweeten up the deal for you though. You will get two of his eggs every Sunday and I will teach him to stop peeing on door mat.
Please, please, please tell me that we are on common grounds of understanding. Knock on my door when you feel ready to settle our disputes.
P/s: Tommy should look into a career as a surgeon. I was impressed of how many facts he knew about pancreatic failure, endocranic injuries and fractured sterna.
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