The 17th of March 1994 – New York, New York

(found on the sidewalk next to an old shoe and a new scarf)

Dear 627B,

I’m really sorry because I know how this sounds, and I know how this is going to make me look, and I definitely know what you’ll think of me after reading this, so I’m really just sorry.

I just want to ask you if you could be a little more considerate of your neighbors and maybe keep it down. It would be really appreciated, especially when it’s so late at night, if you could just keep the noise down a little bit. I mean, especially when it’s so late at night. I have work in the morning. I have a job.

I just don’t understand how anyone can laugh that loud. I really can’t. What in the world could make you so excited? What in the world could make you feel so happy? I really can’t understand that.

Is something funny? Is there some big joke out there that I don’t know about? I really don’t understand.

Because these laughs of yours are like explosions. I know explosions too. I was there you know, in the war, with the noise and the bodies. But I never heard a shell explode like whatever racket erupts from your mouth all and every day.

I don’t understand what you think must be so funny, something to deserve a laugh like that. I feel the floor shake under my feet. I hear the picture frames rattle against the wall. I can – and my wife doesn’t believe me about this – but I can even feel my heart stop beating in my chest, that’s how powerful a shockwave your godforsaken howling sends through the air.

I have a job, you know. I have a job to do every day, Monday through Friday, and I have to wake up at a certain hour. But I can’t sleep most nights, and even when I get a few minutes of sleep, I always end up with a headache by the time I have to leave, a headache caused by all of your insufferable laughter.

So please, can you not laugh so loud? I’m trying to relax.

From 626A


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