Why I’ll never live in New York City
Someone neighborly (below? next door?) to the place I’m staying in NYC are having a giant screaming fight loud enough for me to make out every bloody word of it. The guy hates his fucking job, and he hates his fucking life, and there’s nothing he can fucking do about it because he’s lucky to have a job, and the girl fucking hates the fact that none of her fucking friends have ever met him because he never wants to hang out with people, and they pay ridiculous fucking rent but when the fuck are they going to be able to move, etc, etc, I’m actually under-representing how often the word “fuck” is employed, and if I close the window to try and mute their voices I will swelter to death in my sleep.
I like living in places with sufficient air conditioning and/or thickness of wall and/or distance between residences and/or manners among residents that I don’t end up listening to this kind of thing.
Now apparently she doesn’t understand how he hates his fucking life because she has a fucking perfect life, fuck her, fuck her, fuck her, etc.
It all makes me feel extremely awkward.