I think that there is a homicidal maniac living in my apartment building.
I swear, the above statement is totally founded; it's not just the paranoia of city living OR the fact that I watched Natural Born Killers and Mulholland Dr back to back last night getting to me. No, no, no. Homicidal maniac, I swear.
And, if I'm counting correctly, last night was Night 3 of his rampage of death and destruction.
Yes, I'm sure.
No, I haven't called the police.
After my uplifting movie marathon, I returned home at some late hour, made a phone call, and buried myself in my bed. At 4:00am, I heard the following, in a homicidal maniac man's voice:
I bolt upright in my bed, as I have the last 3 nights. Some really loud, crazed yelling, some other, unidentified loud noises, then a repeat of the inhuman noise above.
As I have the past 3 nights, I get sort of paralyzed with fear - I want to press my ear against my window to listen more closely, but I am afraid that if I do, the homicidal maniac man will see my ear against the window and head in my direction, propelling his rage towards me. This, I do not want to happen.
Then, the questions start:
-Why does he do this every morning around 4:00am?
-Who is he yelling at?
-Why does he sound like a live buffalo being gutted every time he yells?
-What is he saying when he is not yelling like that?
-What apartment does he live in, because I sure fucking hope it's not any of the ones near me?
-Why does an eerie silence always follow the crazy, buffalo-death-yelling?
-Should I call the police?
Before I could answer any of the above questions, I fell asleep. The next time I woke up, it was approximately 6:30am, and I was waking from a dream in which Naomi Watts was trying to make out with me as Woody Harrelson danced around me with a sawed-off shotgun.
I think I need a vacation. And a new pair of ear plugs.
I left the apartment about a half hour ago to get a slice of pizza. On the corner, a man and woman were speaking in hushed tones.
Bald Man: I heard it too!
Pale Woman: It was like someone was being killed.
BM: I heard him say, 'I can't love you if I DON'T LOVE MYSELF!!!!'
PW: Oh, my gaaaawd. If this continues, I'm calling the fuckin' cops next time.
I paused. They were talking about homicidal maniac man!!! I deliberately missed the light to cross the street so I could listen in a bit more. It's like Wisteria Lane around here. Thank god, confirmation that I am not nutso and/or hearing voices.
(Sidenote: I almost joined the conversation, but stopped when I realied that BM was, in fact, the crazy dude who accosted a friend and I in the corner bodega one evening and warned us to never, ever do ecstasy like he did back in the Studio 54 heyday, when his brother was a big-name DJ.)