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When we move out of our apartment at the end of the month, I’ll miss the mystery person who plays piano in the apartment building on the other side of the tree. (Believe me, it’s there.)

I won’t miss the monster child who screams endlessly in the apartment building on the other side of the tree. (Believe me, it’s there.)

It sounds like torture… the screaming, not the music,

-Shady

Old Poop!