It’s 7 p.m. on a Tuesday night. The level of clomping is slightly ridiculous, though not a violation of building quiet hours. Every sound echoes through my apartment, and I fear for the sanctity of my ceiling. Honestly, I do. One of these days I know I’ll look up and find a leg sticking through from the apartment above.
Attached to that foot could be a number of things. I suspect a cinder-block clog.
The clock strikes nine – or it would if we had a clock in our apartment. A door slams shut somewhere above me. Another Clomp Clomp has arrived home or woken up to join the party. It’s not a rager by any means, not that this would be out of the ordinary for my lovely upstairs neighbors, but the lights are shaking.
They are pacing the floor, or whatever the deafeningly loud version of pacing is called. What on Earth requires that much movement around your apartment? The footsteps crisscross to every corner of the room.
If that wasn’t enough, there is now an additional sound. If I had to guess, I would say they tipped over their incredibly large barrel of marbles which are now rolling along the floor. I put in my headphones to block out the noise as I attempt to write my essay.
And now it’s midnight. As I lay in bed, a drawer slams open and shut three times. Or three separate drawers are opened and closed in rapid succession. I would hope, by this point in the year, the Clomp Clomps would know what articles of clothing are stored in which drawers. This does not appear to be the case.
Also, for what reason could they need to go through their drawers at this hour? A late-night fashion show? The walking through the apartment that follows the clanging does little to disprove my theory.
At 2:30 a.m. they fall silent. Or at least, that is the last I hear of them before falling asleep. I even dream about them doing a river dance in those cinder-block clogs. At least, I think it was a dream.
The beautiful image of the cinder-block clogs was created for me by the lovely Casey Donovan. Check out more of her work.