If you’ve ever visited (or slept over, only to emphasize the point) my lovely abode you know quite well that I live above 2 bars. Having had the windows open for the last few months I’ve become overly familiar with Thursday karaoke night and always know where there is a touchdown/home run. I’m also starting to recognize habitual voices. One in particular I’ve named Bucky. His voice is rather distinct. I’ve never seen him, but am pretty sure he’s had a tracheotomy or three and continues to be an avid smoker. He’s always yelling. Actually, add possible alcoholic to that list, seeing how sometimes I hear him to the left of the apartment, sometimes to the right–always beginning in the early afternoon and continuing late into the night.
I cannot help but wonder what his job is. Or was, really. He’s obviously putting in some extensive hours.
I would be totally weirded out if I ever met him. But I don’t intend to go drinking downstair anytime soon…seeing how I know the crowd in those joints all too well.