Abby and I are sitting down to eat our lunch of left over spaghetti and red grapes, when I hear our grocery carts out on the landing being shifted. A moment of panic sets in as I await a complaint from our Landlord’s husband, Pablo. Usually I hear him huffing it up the stairs complaining about his wife to himself, but he was surprisingly quiet today. The guy looks like a hippy that dropped too much acid.
Around 3:30pm Marjorie, our landlord, and Pablo decided to yell at each other. Abby was taking a nap, so I gently opened our door to listen in. They fight all the time. Scott says it’s because they are shut-ins. I think Marjorie and Pablo are just plain nuts.