Things haven’t changed all that much since I moved. July was noisy in this neighborhood, even at two in the morning and two days after the Fourth. They simply really like their fireworks here, and even though the city site says it’s illegal to have them, they’re used to having them, so my San Diego-raised sensibilities get a little annoyed with the occasional disturbance.

But by far, my noisiet neighbors are here at the new place. Every other day, I hear their voices just outside my window, squabbling and squawking at each other in their rather public domestic disputes. I can never understand what they’re saying to each other, so I find myself wondering what all the hullabaloo’s about—possibly some torrid love triangle, judging from all the screeching.

They leave a mess in their wake as well, all over the complex. It’s a wonder anybody tolerates them at all. They literally shit all over the place, and I nearly got doused on my way to the car one day.

I guess it’s not so bad, though. I’d rather hear birds fighting just outside my window than hear the fireworks in the wee hours of the night.

And at least they don’t take up any parking spaces.

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