Real Letters. Strange Stories.
January 28, 1999
Living with people is hard to do. If I were you, I would never move out of your parent’s apartment. You have it made. Megan has been down here less than a month and the fuse is burning short. It’s my fault. I saddled Tommy with a roommate he didn’t want and he never agreed to. They’re like a couple of rabid badgers when left alone.
The three of us have had some epic adventures. Yesterday started with all the makings: The three of us had the whole day off together – plus today. That’s rare these days. Megan went straight for the pool. Tommy and I began our day with a bike adventure – we hadn’t been since Megan came. We thrashed around the neighborhood like the carefree days before Tommy started school. After racing down our favorite spiral parking ramp, Tommy and I swung a strange sharp left instead of our normal right. We found this rad office building with this perfectly slanted slate granite wall. If you got just enough speed bombing the grassy hill you could launch off the granite wall, over the stairwell, and ramp down off the picnic table on the other side. I bent my sprocket and rear wheel, again. I’ve already had to have my rear wheel pressed straight three times – shit’s expensive. Anyway, after a hard couple hours, we returned with the thirst. We joined Meagan at the pool. We quickly drained our supplies. Tommy and I buzzed up to the grocery store in Megan’s car. Our mission was to gather barbecue supplies: Beer, Booze and Beef. You can get all that at the grocery store here – none of that 3:2 bullshit. We crashed our carts up and down every aisle. We made no friends. It was my treat; we filled the carts – isn’t that what credit’s for?
After grilling up some ribeyes in the courtyard we retired to the apartment. I charged an electronic dartboard a while back – we’ve been getting pretty competitive lately. The game was on. The lady above our apartment had tweaked Tommy’s last nerve the night before. She has a baby that cries all throughout the night. I don’t hear it, but it drives Tommy batty. Anyway, two nights ago — at about 2 a.m. — he finally went up and chewed her ass. She told him to piss off. Last night we cranked the stereo in retaliation. This morning we received another noise complaint – we really showed her. Anyway, we were drinkin’, rockin’ out, and playin’ darts; we were truly enjoying each other’s company. And that’s when everything went sideways. Megan, one dart away from taking the championship, missed the 16 she needed by two holes. One of Megan’s college classes was Kickboxing – Megan dropkicks the air whenever she misses a critical shot. On this unfortunate occasion, she was too close to the wall. Her little black combat boot was stuck in the sheetrock.