Bab 11: Chapter 11

“Oh my God. Who the fuck is playing Big Sean full blast at three A.M.?” Phillip demanded angrily.

He exited out the front door, leaving the door wide open. I sat underneath the ceiling fan in my underwear, shivering. In the darkness I fumbled desperately for my clothes.

Whomp whomp whomp! Phillip’s fist connected with the door. I noticed other residents, wrapped up in their bathrobes, shuffle to the door in their slippers. They joined him, the chorus of their fists as loud and hard as the bass. Whoever lived there refused to open the door, so a resident dialed the police.

Phillip stomped back into our home. “What kind of asshole decides three A.M. is his time to turn up?”

“Someone whose three A.M. is his nine P.M.”

“He could have the common decency to move to another time zone, then. Jesus,” Phillip snapped, pacing the kitchen floor. “Let’s hope the cops get here soon.”

“He’ll probably turn it off just as soon as they pull up.”

Phillip laughed. “He probably will, though.”