Yesterday I heard screams of such raw and primal grief I assumed the neighbour’s baby had died (she is so ill it’s a case not of if but when). Only after some time did I realise it was the couple in the upstairs flat.
The fumes from their post-coital packet/s of cigarettes are still drifting through the window and impregnating my space with their noxious odour.
Last night, or rather this morning at 1am, the dog-hater was under the window again with a new appellation implying I possess an overweening interest in performing oral sex on men.
The house is empty, the children are still away. The sky has darkened. It is about to rain.