...on stampedes

the bastard has seen the difference between mythology and reality today.

no i'm not talking about our president's cracked halo.

i'm talking about the simple shit.

made myth.

then made real ,

and not nearly as impressive as the myth.

you see, up until this morning, the bastard had an elephant living upstairs from me.

an elephant in high heel shoes.

KLOMP, KLOMP, KLOMP,

she stomps around her apartment as if she's doing jumping jacks in heels.

KLOMP, KLOMP, KLOMP,

as she does laps around her 455 square foot box.

CRASH, JANGLE, JANGLE,

as she lifts her entire closet off the ground and empties it onto the floor spreading what only sounds like a metric ton of wire hangers jangling all along the ground.

or broken glass

or a jar of loose change.

night after night, i hear her over my headphones while i watch tv on my laptop at 1 in the morning.

even when she takes off her shoes, she sounds like she's hammering nails into the floor.

she must have been enormous, or had concrete shoes, or just plain had heavy feet.

as the bastard walked out of his apartment this morning, upon closing the door, after hearing the tell tale galoomping out the door and the sound of a fire door being slammed 1 floor above as my door closed 1 floor down, i rushed to the elevator to see if i could fit into the car with this behemoth only to find a little girl standing there listening to her iphone before she goes to work.

i must have been mistaken.

ground floor, i do the right thing and let her leave the car first

and

CLACK, CLACK, CLACK,

she stomps right out of the building, leaving potholes all along 24th street, as if you leave a trail for her to get home by later.

it was kind of disappointing and it made sense in a way. i think i might have to leave a note asking her to take off her shoes after 11pm as she stomps like a wooly mammoth but, she sounds just as lound sans footwear.

oh well, that's apartment living for you.

—the bastard