Saturday 8/10/24
This is how the new week begins. I've never written a letter to the person to whom a letter like this would go, despite all of the poor behavior over the years in my building, but it was necessary this morning.
I had a book I was reading on the shoe rack outside of my door. Last night, someone in the building--or a guest of someone in the building--stole that book. Who steals a book?
Also: The women in apartment 7 are ridiculous with their door slamming. Thirty times a day, they slam that door. I was awoken today at two in the morning by the slamming of said door, and then again around three.
They are each aware of how loud the door is when they slam it, because if it's in the morning and the one is leaving while the other is there, they are careful to close the door so that it doesn't shake the walls. It's beyond rude.
There were several books outside: a Van Gogh biography that's beat to hell and coming apart and looks like it's stained with blood but it's coffee, a volume of Victorian Christmas ghost stories, a former library copy of Henry James's critical writings, a galley of a Thoreau bio, and my favorite edition of M.R. James's collected ghost stories. It was the M.R. James book that was swiped.
Then, the idiotic, drunken, sloppy, rude-as-can-be women across the hall--though they need not be drunk to slam the door--slammed the door again at four in the morning. I went looking for my book in case someone had grabbed it and tossed it somewhere else in the building, and as I was coming back from the end of the hallway, a chubby woman (no mystery where all of that sugar is landing), staggering in her drunkenness, was leaving the apartment of the door slamming women, on her way home, at quarter past four, and nearly hip-checked me as we passed.
I was told that my sister and my nephew and nieces were coming for a visit, pretty much just to see me and hit up the sites, so I'm going to have to find time for that. They won't have a car and they won't be going anywhere else. It's Boston with the brother and the uncle.
I have a feature to write on Miles Davis. I need funds, so I really have to crank some stuff and get it together.

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