Have you forgotten me? I was your downstairs neighbour about ten years ago. Remember?
We both lived in that old house on that little cul-de-sac. Most of the road maps showed it as a through street, and cabbies were always getting lost on the way to pick one or the other of us up.
Ah, you remember the street. I knew you would!
I had that gorgeous Doberman pinscher you used to check up on when I left him in the back yard. Do you know my next landlord made me get rid of him? Just because he knocked over and bit a three-year-old who lived on the street. Poor doggie.
Wasn't the landlady awful? I mean the one who owned the house we used to share. What, you liked her? Oh, right, you always took her side about things. I remember you called her and ratted on me when I knocked down the wall between the dining room and the living room. It's okay, I'm not bitter. You two always insisted that renters couldn't make renovations, which is crazy, because, you know, it's a domicile, and you can decorate where you live.
I went by the house once after I moved out and saw the landlady tore down the detached garage. Wait, she actually told you the back entrance I put in it made it structurally unsound? That's complete and utter garbage, I never... look, it wasn't me who told the raccoon family to go live in the garage. I'm not exactly a wild animal wrangler.
Before we get carried away with that, there is one thing I wanted to ask you about. It's why I stopped you. I see you own a car now, right? This one is yours? So if you're not as anti-car as you made yourself out to be when you lived there... I mean, don't you feel like a hypocrite for reporting me to the city when I left the car battery on the front lawn? Seriously. I suppose you thought I should leave it in my living room or something.
Wait! Don't go! There's one other thing I never understood. You used to go to lots of concerts, right? You like music? I remember one time when we were discussing the baby gate I put across the front entrance I saw that you had two big bookshelves, one with LPs and one with CDs. So how come you were always getting at me to turn down my music? No. No, I do not believe that. If “MacArthur Park” sounds bad when you can hear it over your vacuum cleaner, then it's you who need to get a new vacuum cleaner. That's a classic song, right there. You need to turn it up so you can hear all the sounds.
I said, I'm not bitter. There are just things I need to know, come to terms with things, you know? It seems to me that you're a very harsh person. You should learn a little tolerance, you know, learn that not everyone has the same values as you. We all have to live together in this world.
Fine. Leave then. I don't think you realise how nasty you are. I'm not bitter, not at all, just trying to integrate the past with the present, and here you are, giving me attitude. You haven't grown at all.
Good-bye and have a good life. I mean that.
We both lived in that old house on that little cul-de-sac. Most of the road maps showed it as a through street, and cabbies were always getting lost on the way to pick one or the other of us up.
Ah, you remember the street. I knew you would!
I had that gorgeous Doberman pinscher you used to check up on when I left him in the back yard. Do you know my next landlord made me get rid of him? Just because he knocked over and bit a three-year-old who lived on the street. Poor doggie.
Wasn't the landlady awful? I mean the one who owned the house we used to share. What, you liked her? Oh, right, you always took her side about things. I remember you called her and ratted on me when I knocked down the wall between the dining room and the living room. It's okay, I'm not bitter. You two always insisted that renters couldn't make renovations, which is crazy, because, you know, it's a domicile, and you can decorate where you live.
I went by the house once after I moved out and saw the landlady tore down the detached garage. Wait, she actually told you the back entrance I put in it made it structurally unsound? That's complete and utter garbage, I never... look, it wasn't me who told the raccoon family to go live in the garage. I'm not exactly a wild animal wrangler.
Before we get carried away with that, there is one thing I wanted to ask you about. It's why I stopped you. I see you own a car now, right? This one is yours? So if you're not as anti-car as you made yourself out to be when you lived there... I mean, don't you feel like a hypocrite for reporting me to the city when I left the car battery on the front lawn? Seriously. I suppose you thought I should leave it in my living room or something.
Wait! Don't go! There's one other thing I never understood. You used to go to lots of concerts, right? You like music? I remember one time when we were discussing the baby gate I put across the front entrance I saw that you had two big bookshelves, one with LPs and one with CDs. So how come you were always getting at me to turn down my music? No. No, I do not believe that. If “MacArthur Park” sounds bad when you can hear it over your vacuum cleaner, then it's you who need to get a new vacuum cleaner. That's a classic song, right there. You need to turn it up so you can hear all the sounds.
I said, I'm not bitter. There are just things I need to know, come to terms with things, you know? It seems to me that you're a very harsh person. You should learn a little tolerance, you know, learn that not everyone has the same values as you. We all have to live together in this world.
Fine. Leave then. I don't think you realise how nasty you are. I'm not bitter, not at all, just trying to integrate the past with the present, and here you are, giving me attitude. You haven't grown at all.
Good-bye and have a good life. I mean that.