Listening to rain on the street, to the cars making rushing wet sounds as they plow through it. I’m aware that there is life stirring in the apartments around me, someone upstairs having turned on the shower and stepped into the rushing warm water. I wonder what happens now that those upstairs people have been evicted. I know they’ve been evicted because there was an uproar earlier in the week, and the landlady, who I saw in the elevator in her robe, her hair knotted on the top of he head, waved the paper at me as she rode up with me. Apparently the man upstairs has been wanted by the police for quite some time on assault charges, but they’ve never been able to catch him at home, until three or four nights ago. I’d been a little unnerved by the number of cops floating around in the shadows when I came home. 9, J told me kind of excitedly when I came through the door. I locked it behind me, remembering the random person who had walked in and looked puzzled when I said hello with a question mark at the end. He’d left, slightly red in the face, having got the wrong floor. There was a rustling over our heads, and the sound of muffled voices, the creak of hinges. J’s slightly disappointed that the man upstairs went with the cops without a scuffle. I’m aware that I feel indifferent, and am merely disappointed that that kind of person is still managing to find purchase in a building I live in too. And then there’s relief, because now I won’t have to listen to him fight or fuck with his girlfriend late at night. There’s always more crashing and thumping around up there than is really necessary. I think she’s still there – will she leave? The landlady’s put the sign out in the front lawn, one that says “vacancy” so I imagine there is no choice.