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Kids.

We live on the fourth floor in a five storey apartment building. The last floor now works as a buffer floor after a mobile network operator suddenly installed a base station cell tower on the roof. When all the people on the fifth floor have got cancer, we’re moving out.

A good thing about this apartment building is that the walls are not made of paper, so we rarely hear anything from the next door neighbours. The couple that lives above us is another story – they are very easy to hear when they bounce around. She likes to go out to party every now and then, and as we all know most women tend to spend quite some time getting ready. The first thing she does is to put on her high heals, and then she runs around for about an hour before she finally leaves. Not he most entertaining thing to listen to, but nothing we can’t live with.

For about a week now they’ve had visitors; another couple with a kid, a boy, about two years old. And he is a wild and active kid! When he does not run around in circles upstairs in what can only be tap dancing shoes, he jumps around in his concrete shoes. What did this two year old kid do to the mafia to deserve that?

You’d think that this would stop when the little balerina goes to bed. It does, but the problem is that he usually keeps on going until eleven in the evening. That’s late – that’s after I normally go to bed. I don’t know much about parenting, but shouldn’t a two year old go to bed a wee bit earlier than that?

When he does not dance, he screams. He does not cry like other kids his age, he literarily screams. His usual pattern is a five second screeching noise, followed by a few seconds of silence. I assume that’s when he inhales. Yesterday he kept going for an hour before he finally stopped.

Just one of the many joys of not living alone in a cave in the middle of nowhere.

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