he says he is a real estate agent. dubious.
when the weather is cold, there is not a peep from his house.
in warm weather, though, michael emerges. he’s nocturnal.
michael rolls up in his suv with windows down and music blaring. inexplicably, he often exits on the passenger side of his car (when no one else is in it). he’s been known to wear tie dye pants, and also to leave his car (and music) running while he sleeps in the front yard.
his favorite thing to do is leave his front door open, blare funkadelic music as loud as possible, and play air guitar. his favorite time to do this is between the hours of four and seven am.
here’s the thing. the hours between four and seven am are my favorite time to sleep. this saturday i was exhausted; fresh off a week in nyc and boston and with a full day of lsat class and school work on sunday.
i put in ear plugs.
i put my fan beside my head and turned it all the way up.
i wrapped a scarf around my eyes.
finally, i woke up, took off the scarf, and tried to remember where my axe was. when i remembered that i did not have an axe, i stood up and walked to the front door.
opened it and crossed the street barefoot, wearing pajama pants and a tshirt. walked across the street to michael’s front door.
i would’ve knocked on the door, but, of course, it was wide open. so instead, i stood at the door and waited for michael to see me.
he was playing air guitar pretty intensely, but eventually he opened his eyes and, seeing me, turned down the music. i gave him a thumbs up.
i’m so sorry, he said. it’s ok, i said, but can i close the door?
shuffle shuffle shuffle back to my bed, and two more hours of sleep.
if i was not a middle school teacher, or was not studying for the lsat, or was not taking postbacc classes, or did not have approximately 1,245 bosses and responsibilities, michael and i would be bff.