Bathroom Monologue: One Man’s Ceiling

Roy’s apartment palpitated every night with the music from the next floor. They partied, danced and got that loud kind of drunk he simply couldn’t stand, all to an almost ethereal rock vibe to shook his couch. He could smell the booze from his dry and pious living room.

Like most people he didn’t go up and confront them, but kept a glaring eye out in the lobby, though he never ran into them. Sometimes he banged on the ceiling or turned up his own music, but that drew complaints from the people beneath him.

His superintendent was nonplussed when he finally called, saying after a long pause, “But Mr. Stander, you live on the top floor.”