wrath

The people upstairs are vacuuming. Ordinarily this would not be blog-worthy material. But it's 6 o' clock in the fucking morning. And they have been at it for the past 20 mins. As I lay here on my bed, plotting deadly revenge and the perfect murder, I also tried to figure out what would make someone do domestic chores at 5:30 on a Saturday morning.

Was it a case of insomnia? boredom? Perhaps he used the potted plant in the corner to fuck her, spilling wet soil all over the ground in the process.

"Now look what you've done. Who's going to clean up the mess?"
"Here honey, you missed a spot. Let me drag the coffee table half way across the floor. Then when you're done, I'll drag it back".
"That's alright, no one will hear us. They're probably all asleep anyway"

At first I thought about writing a note.
Then I contemplated throwing large rocks through their window. There, vacuum that you idiots!
As the sound of moving furniture and the whine of the vacuum continued, I considered knocking on their door and politely asking them why before I carved out their eyes with a butter knife.

But then hesitation crept in. One of them might have just offed the other. In a messy sort of way. Maybe she didn't give good head. Maybe there was milk with his coffee. Or she was simply tired of having his hard dick pressed against her. Every morning. There's only so much a person can take.

If I were to knock on the door he/she might not take it too kindly to being interrupted during this delicate clean up process. I could be a witness - god forbid! That would most certainly ruin my Saturday. I have much to do today. So I got out of bed, turned on the fan in the bathroom, made coffee and wrote a note. This note.