To the Tranny who lives upstairs

Forgive me for being so unforgiving. The fact that one day you may no longer have a penis is sure to make you cranky.

For it seems, in the desire to wash away your tears (I thought it was your tears that flooded my kitchen once, but you had just left the sink running), you turned to that one true solace you have, 80's music.

Now I know how much 80's music means to you. I hear you play it...constantly...sometimes focusing in on that one special song, which you play over and over and over.

Touching.

So when, two nights ago, your pain was so much that you continued with the sounds of the 80's, segueing into High Disco about midnight, I should not have been surprised. One o'clock passed, then 2, then 3, then 4...

I, unfeeling, decided to bang on the ceiling...

My mistake. For not 30 sec seconds later were you not at my door, bedecked in gold drop earrings ( a nice touch for 4 AM I must say), stating: "Why did you bang on the ceiling?" (an interesting question, which surprised me for having to have been asked, so I said: "Um, the music") To which your replied: "I'm a Tranny, bitch! This is a public building and I have the right to play music whenever I want! Don't you fuck with me faggot! You don't want to fuck with me or my "people". I'll fucking dance on your fucking head!..."

Ah, better living through chemistry.

Forgive me for wanting to sleep at night, but I still have a penis.