The joys of terrace living
11:30 pm, Sunday night: Guy across the road is playing saxophone very loudly. Playing is actually a generous term. If I hadn’t heard him play before (at similar times of the day night) I would be firmly convinced he’s never played before. Or even seen a sax.
10 minutes ago: I walk over to ask him to call it quits. He’s drunk, and ‘playing’ along to jazz coming out very loud from his stereo. Glad I live across the street, not next door.
Now there’s banging on his door from his neighbours. Shouting, swearing, threats. Lots of it.