Saturday, April 01, 2006


She’s given a nickname to the upstairs neighbors: The Gustompo. They walk all over the hardwood floors with elephantine footfall. Once, she knocked on their door and mentioned her concern that the floor might fall through. “You’re paranoid.” Humphrey told her and pat her on the left shoulder. The next night they threw a whoopee party; didn’t invite her, but shook her apartment enough to make her throw an epileptic fit. When she peeled herself off the floor, she heard that fateful thump she’d been anticipating. She rushed to the room; yes, Humphrey had fallen through the ceiling. “Good thing the bed broke your fall.” He was so drunk. “Sure.” She’s easygoing. “Stay the night.” She went to the kitchen to brew some coffee. When she came back to the bedroom with two steaming cups, she noticed that Humphrey’s guests had all jumped through the hole in the floor. “He dared us!”

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