My next door neighbor. Typical blond sort of thing. She’s living with her mother, and some siblings most likely. I don’t know whether the father lives there, but there’s some man going in and out every now and then.

I remember the first day I saw her. I actually initiated a conversation as she went out of the house and down the stairway.

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor”, yeah, I actually said that. So she told me her name, which was like “Clara” or “Caroline” or “Catherine” or whatever it was then shook hands with me, the faminine way.
and kept on going.

Months later I realized that I’m going to hear much more from her than I thought.

As my bedroom shares two walls with the outside of the apartment, one wall I shared with their apartment directly, the other with the stairwell, the slamming of their door and conversations they had with each other on the way out were audible. As if they were right inside my bedroom.
The thing was that I could hear every opening and closing of their door, every guest coming in and going back out of her parties. Guests used to smoke, right outside from me, and strangely I could smell everything. At that point I didn’t care much about the noise actually.

Until last year. It was only during some very rough times that I began noticing the noise.

It became unbearable.

I wrote a letter on a piece of standard A4 paper in my handwriting, black ink, using very polite words in a very impolite way, forming my complaints about her awful parties.
I slid in through their mail slit.

The next day, her mom comes knocking, asking me whether I wanted to talk about it, I gave her a mean look and said “No. The issue is solved for me” and pretty much slammed the door in her face.

Ever since then, it’s pretty quiet.
What am I trying to say, then? Well, quite simple. Keep your fucking daughter quiet, and yes your daughter smokes too much pot and so do her friends, it sure smells like it from here. I still feel like reporting them to the commune.

Regret? No. I’ve done the right thing.