Right now it’s two in the morning on a Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, although the cacophony of madness being produced outside would sooner make one think of the front lines in Iraq.
 
There is work being done on the sewer lines in my neighborhood, which translates into enormous trucks and excessively loud pumps running non-stop directly outside my front door. Why they had to wait until 10pm to start working is beyond me. My street is really not that busy; we would have gotten along just fine.
 
Also, apparently, everyone in Towson is an alcoholic. The bars are as full as ever, with the noise level somewhere between “This is completely unreasonable, ” and “I’m going to stab someone.”
 
There are arguments right outside my windows. So many arguments. Construction workers are yelling at eachother, drunk girls are gossiping, guys are beefing. Car alarms are going off, people are honking at eachother, and police sirens are wailing in all directions. And every ten minutes, someone at one of the bars takes the trash out and a thousand bottles break against the bottom of the dumpster.
 
I’m not complaning per se; I stay up late anyway and I could sleep through a tornado, but this is just so laughable I had to share it. It comes in waves too. The construction was the only thing going on until about 1:30am when all hell broke loose, judging by the noises. And now that I’ve finished writing all of this it’s dead silent again.
 
The only thing that could make this night complete would be another knife fight, heard through my bedroom wall.
 
Have you ever heard of that species of duck that lives by airports, and they’ve lived there so long that they’re all born deaf now? Or maybe it was rabbits. I don’t know animals. Either way, I feel like if anyone were to raise a kid here, they would need to play it tapes of smashing bottles and police sirens to help it sleep on the quieter nights.