Enough to Cry Out Loud
You know, they’re friggin’ everywhere.
Worse, they’re friggin’ everywhere around ME!
Kids. Rug rats. Screachers.
Jumpers. Whiners. Wretched little things.
Alright, you’re all going to tell me to get over it since I, like everyone else, was a kid once. Also, I do realize that kids have to be kids. But when they’re jumping and running and screaming right above my head, I just want to cry. I mean, I feel I’m not within my rights to knock on my neighbour’s door at 8:00 p.m. to ask them to calm the little fuckers who’ve been at it for well over an hour.
Meanwhile, there’s one demented child in the building across. It screams for no reason. At 7:30 a.m. On Saturday. Which gets its mother to scream back.
That’s when she’s not playing with said child and — I kid you not — ululating. Something like this.
It’s rather cool to live in such a multicultural city. But…