There Goes The Neighbourhood
The sun was getting quite warm as I walked home yesterday afternoon. I wasn't in any particular hurry and made my way through Old Town. Yellow paintwork caught my attention. As an automatic reaction I glanced up like anyone else, and since bright paintwork is a rarity in the sombre decade we live in, it might not suprise you to learn the car was a Lamborghini Gallardo with its roof down.
The driver was looking straight at me behind his shades. Don't know why, he just was. Then of course he noticed that I'd spotted the Lambo, and predictably he floored the accelerator, shooting off down the high street in a mad desperate bid to look superior. The engine noise was a disappointment. Sure, it sounded raucous and loud, like you'd expect, but somehow it had no class to it. He roared off sounding exactly like a souped up hatchback, and if I were brutally honest, behaving like one too.
Now I've enjoyed an accelerator pedal or two in my time, so perhaps I can't claim moral superiority, but then, I press the accelerator for the sheer joy of it. He pressed it to announce he was the alpha male. By lucky coincidence his sudden burst of speed meant he was somewhere else a lot faster. Bye.
Neighbours of the Week
Around three o'clock this morning I became dimly aware that things were a little noisier than you'd expect. My neighbours, having returned from a nightclub and clearly wanting to carry on dancing the night away, pumped up the volume with their mates. Reggae bass lines resonated through the brick wall. I might be wrong, but I think its those idiots who spread snow on the path after I cleared it recently.
Worse still, they had disconnected their doorbell. The police, naturally, weren't interested. So far, neither are the local council who deal with noise issues. We'll see.
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