It Is What It Is

5AM: For the 71st day in a row, I'm awakened by the sound of pigeons in the airshaft outside my bathroom windows. I've been in this apartment for 71 days and without exception, their cooing and the clattering of their feathers has had me wide-awake before the sun rises. And for the 71st day in a row, I lie there wondering where I can buy bird poison.

730AM: The woman next door must be having a hard time figuring out what to wear to church. I heard her alarm go off at 6AM, like I always do. And I heard her slam her dresser drawers shut, two or three times, like I always do. But this morning, she returns to her dresser several more times before I finally hear her front door open and her keys jangling in the hallway.

10AM: The young couple upstairs has begun their day. First, the girl turns on their television for her usual exercise program, which must be called Clogging For Fitness. After an hour or so of energetic stomping, she will surrender the entertainment center to her boyfriend. He is a Surround Sound Specialist at the 86th Street Circuit City and apparently only likes to watch The Explosion Channel.

1145AM: The handsome young oboeist across the alley begins practicing. He's very talented, but as usual, he only practices the same short 3 minute piece over and over and over. The people he shares a terrace with try to drown him out with some music from their home country, which seems to be somewhere in the Grating region of central Shriekistan.

But I've never complained, not to any of them. And I never will. I knew what I was getting into when I moved to New York City. You don't move next to the airport and then complain about planes.

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