Most of the time I don't mind living next to a bar. Over the past few years, I've gotten quite used to the 3am bottle dumps, the late-night drunken off-key singing of terrible 80s R&B ballads, and even the bartenders taking smoking breaks right outside my window. All of that no longer bothers me. I even find it somewhat funny when I leave my apartment on a Saturday morning and discover remnants of someone's apparently crazy night out, like an inside-out men's t-shirt, one broken stiletto or a matted blonde Marilyn Monroe wig. Or sometimes all three.
But some days, it just really sucks to live next to a bar, and today was one of those days. I mean, maybe I'm overreacting, but when I went out to pick up my newspaper this morning and discovered a massive dried pool of barf all over my stoop and a broken off wine glass stem that was just waiting to stab me right through the flip flop, I had the sudden and overwhelming sensation that I'm just too old for this shit.
God I hope it rains today, because I really don't want to have to leap over a pool of barf for the next few days...
Sigh.
I sure hope That it rained! :-(
ReplyDelete