apartment dwellers

I guess it isn't easy living in an apartment. I actually live in a box, but more about that later.

The woman who lives above my client came here as an Internet bride from Eastern Europe. She knew that America was the land of opportunity and she was eager to find her way here. She wooed a man electronically, and who knows what she promised him. He is nineteen years older than she is, and a drunk, but he was the key that opened the gate to riches.

The woman came here found a job, performed her sexual duties for about a year and then found a second job. She has now been here about six years. Each year she takes a large chunk of her hard-earned American money and goes home to the ancient hills for the summer.

My client had been her friend for more than the first two years. My client had listened to stories of the old country and endless complaints about the man who has outlived his usefulness. After a while, my client, who has several issues of her own, politely told this woman that the time she could spend with her was limited. She was tired and tense and all of this negativity made her nervous. (Don't take it personally, but I don't like you).

Anyway, she did take it personally. She went upstairs, rolled up the rugs, and since then has been moving furniture, dropping books, banging pots, flushing the toilet six or seven times in a row, and tap dancing in her ten pound boots.

My client has be defending herself by running the cold water at just the right volume so that the pipes vibrate. She also puts on her old disco CDs very loudly.

Tomorrow the woman will leave for her trip back home. There will be peace in the apartment.

It's not just my clients who have difficulties. The ones who need the help the most are the ones who have no idea that they do.

Right George?