In apartment living, your neighbors issues become your issues. If they have bugs, you have bugs. If they cook fish, you cook fish. If they play drums, you play drums. Where may I ask, do all the normal people live? I say normal because I do not believe our upstairs neighbors can be defined as such.
Let me put it to you, Internet: what would you call someone who rises in the evening to celebrate the night's arrival with a marble-based confetti party and after tiring of their celebration around midnight, finds themselves looking for a place to rest but, dissatisfied with the arrangement of their furniture, opt for a complete rearrangement of the current layout. However, too weak from their partying to actually lift the furniture, they resign to dragging it to its new home. Side-note: one thing I must give them credit for is the unique layout of their unit; it seems they have cast over it an Undetectable Extension Charm rendering the space indeterminably large. They seem to drag the furniture for ages before finessing it to its permanent-temporary location. Now, with their mini-party complete, and their furniture in an interim arrangement, they welcome the dawn with a mating session to make the wild beasts of the Serengeti think something was wrong. So yeah, what do you call these neighbors? Cause we've got 'em.
Marble-dropping, furniture-pushing, banshee-sex-having neighbors. Humans are weird.
