Morning all. I hope you had a fabulous weekend. I am still recovering from dental surgery so mine was quiet and filled with pain meds and soft foods. On the mend now though so that is good. Shall we see what the morning prompt brings us? Fabulous. Timers set and off we go.
Not sure what happened to Jason but it is going to be gruesome.
Monday, November 4th: I woke to the sound of Frank Sinatra.
I woke to the sound of Frank Sinatra. As my downstairs neighbors were much more likely to blast death metal, it came as a bit of a shock. It was also barely nine in the morning, far too early for them to be awake. As my flight arrived a scant three hours earlier and I awoke disoriented and feeling slightly drugged.
Upon arriving home I let myself into my apartment, dropped my suitcase into the living room, and kicked off my shoes beside the bags and continued on to the bedroom. I had planned to change but the bed looked so inviting that I simply lay down fully dressed. I slipped from the top of the bed, feeling gummy and not all there as I stumbled into the living room.
The song blaring was ‘I did it my way,’ and as I grabbed my keys and made it through the door I wondered what my way would be. Would I strangle the neighbors or grab a heavy object and bash them over the head. I entered the hallway and was gratified to find my neighbor from across the hall already standing there. I knew he worked from home and he knew how late I got in this morning. Rather than try to communicate over the somehow not so dulcet tones of Sinatra, he nodded at me and we both made for the stairs.
There had been problems before and we knew solidarity would help. We reached the lower floor and found another neighbor already pounding on the door. I recognized Frank and knew he worked nights. He would have only gotten in a few hours before me and would be less amused by the noise. The noise was, all things considered, a rare thing. The usually noisy neighbor had recently invested in a very spiffy pair of headphones and had been using them, much to our relief as no matter wat he played he seemed to only listen to it at top volume.
Frank pounded the door and I waited. My across the hall neighbor, George, went for the super. He arrived and I tried to step out of the way. As he knocked and used his pass key, I had feeling of dread. The music was now Fly Me to the Moon. Something was wrong. Jason would never blast Sinatra and even when blasting music he always managed to hear the door knock. The hairs on the back of my neck were raised as the super pushed the door open. I saw rather than heard him gag as he raced past me and threw up over the side of the railing. I inched closer to the door.
Ten til Midnight 