I
shot the drug addict upstairs tonight. He’d tormented me with his
comings-and-goings: out the back window one day: returning home filthy,
smelling of drink and whorehouses the next. And his visitors! A stream of young
women and lowlifes clattering up the stairs at all hours keeping me awake; the
police were always there. As for the twitchy, pistol-packing war
veteran flatmate…
He
scrutinized me minutely; as if identifying an insomniac Classics scholar
scraping a clerk’s living far from my native Dunbartonshire could expose the
homicide in my soul. Baker
Street
2 comments:
Hilarious! I just went to see a Sherlock Holmes historical exhibit too.
If the narrator thought the neighbourhood was gone before, just wait until he sees what happens to the city next...
It seems to me that particularly annoying neighbour had it coming.
The flatmate sounds like he may be quite dangerous though.
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