dear downstairs neighbor,

You've been just what I would expect in a young party-loving apartment dweller. You've played your music so loudly that if we chose to use the playroom as the bedroom it is intended to be, I'd never be able to sleep. You carry on conversations long after quiet hours and loudly enough that we can discern not only tone of voice, but individual words. You've littered the ground around our apartment with hundreds of cigarette butts and smoked weed on your porch more than once or twice. I haven't complained, I haven't called the office or the cops.

I'm a pretty decent neighbor and I've lived in enough apartments to know that some noise (and other) pollution comes with the territory. Yesterday, when you came in the middle of the day and said that Tristan is so loud that your houseguest is thinking of leaving (though of course having a houseguest is against your lease), I honestly said I would do my best to curb it. And I tried. I cajoled, threatened, yelled until, by the end of the day, both Tristan and I were wrecks. And, this morning, after another of your loud nights, you had the audacity to bang on the ceiling when Ellie cried. Babies CRY! And if you think your banging on the ceiling is going to enable me to comfort my baby more quickly, you are a foolish ass.

Tristan, do you have your stomping boots on?