Death, life and the neighbourhood

It all started when we had a party, and the old lady next door died. She was very, very old, but we have little doubt that we contributed to the cessation of her beating heart on account of Friedrich’s DJ set. Loud, heavy bass music sent vibrations through the walls.

The very next day, as we discussed whether we had caused her death, the young gay couple next door came home with a screaming infant. We heard her before we saw her. We were nursing our hangovers from the front porch, drinking borocca and dreading the moment that the morning became afternoon; it was going to be a hot day. There was a shrill scream. Tom jumped, in fright. It was loud. Very loud. Squinting as the reflection of the opening car door pierced our eyes, we turned to see a small human with a beetroot red face.

From that point onwards, things changed.

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