Velouria (velouria) wrote,

  • Mood:


Each time I pick up my cordless phone, there's Mariachi music and conversating Mexicans blaring out of it. I can try and talk over them, but all anyone can here is them.

The other night, there were roses, a bear, and candy beside the stairs. My downstairs neighbor slash friend slash coworker didn't think it was for her. She'd just moved here and no one even knew it. So we shrugged and split the candy.

Someone rang my doorbell at 2:00 in the morning last night. I was in my underwear, unconscious. So I sat up and put my new 500 dollar glasses on (not as attractive as the contacts, no, but time was of the essence). It rang again. I got to it just in time to hear someone thundering down the stairs.

I feel like I'm in purgatory, or in eminent danger of being there shortly. I would call 911, but there's dead Mexicans tying up the line.
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