Between the thumping bass from the apartment below, the karaoke sing-along to J-pop from above, the sound of traffic from Lincoln Avenue, and the occassional female screams of sexual pleasure that I have yet to determine the directional source of, I’m thinking maybe I should have moved to that nice little townhouse that seemed to be in the midst of a quiet little slice of suburbia.
But, then again, I do have a washer and dryer in the apartment. That counts for something.
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