You four, or five, or however many, have moved into the place above me. You pile compost garbage into the regular garbage and let it pile up so high on your deck that maggots rain through my bedroom ceiling for three fucking days.

You stomp around and up and down the stairs at 5am. Your friends blast their car stereos at the same time. You get mad when I turn up my music, though?

Fuck you. Stop picking on me and framing yourself as victims, you miserable pieces of shit.

You antagonize the hell out of me, yet I am absolutely sure you don't want a fight. But, I do know your friends want my apartment, as they have said as much to me.

Well fuck you. I grew up being bullied. As an adult, I have been in armed stand offs, so a bunch of fucking hippies isn't about to scare me off from the one place I can afford and thay provides me with the shelter I desire—other than the disrespectful little shits up stairs.
—Leave me the hell alone