User:Bhigby

93 GREENE Industrial. Smog. Burnt electrical wiring. Giggles. Cries. Laughs. Chants. Screams – these are the impressions I have every night at midnight when I hear the Party Club two doors down, laughing and drinking and having a party. Every night is the same. Industrial. Smog. Burnt electrical wiring. Giggles. Cries. Laughs. Chants. Screams. Laughing and drinking and having a party. I used to work. I can’t work anymore because the Party Club rings in my mind. Laughing and drinking and having a party two doors down. I don’t go out anymore, except to sit next to their door, two doors down laughing and drinking and having a party. The stink of industrial metal. The laughs of deranged teens. The smell of sweating leather. The sound of scratching along vinyl. These are the sounds of the Party Club. It started as an irritation. Then became a frustrated rally for sanity. Now, now it’s an obsession. I no longer am a prisoner of my cubicle. Now I am a prisoner of their cubicle. Their sounds. Their smells. Their laughter, grunts, moans. I watch them through my key hole. Some come in. Some go out. They wear leather. Maybe that is their skin – rough torn leather. The faces are undefined. I started wearing leather. I stopped shaving. I’m whipped now. When they first arrived they frightened me. Now I fear I can’t live without them and their horrible jeers. I saw them move a short circuit monitor in their cubicle apartment. What’s that for? Who are they watching? Can I watch? I have popcorn. I have leather. Sitting outside their door I whistle, ‘Two doors down, laughing and drinking and having a party…’