the boy has two lives. the one you see and the one you don't. typical, or perhaps not. no job, he stays in all week and as typical ordinary teens do, partying all day. I hear the loud music and video games. the dialogue of movies seeps through my walls. perfectly normal, except for the fact that he is alone during these parties. the noises of his daily routine is,... forgiveable. but at night, I wonder. the faint smell of marijuana billowing through the connected vent of our apartments. I ignored that as well. but now the scratching, the scratching is unsettling. only because I used to live in that apartment. I know the layout well. at night, all night, I hear the distinct scratching on the wall connecting our apartments. the unsettling part is the pin point spot it resounds from. it seems to me, and though a sane person would say it illogical, that he is sitting on top of the fridge and scratching the wall. weather he is high or not doesn't bother me. but the imagery, him crammed in the large shelf scratching with his bare fingers. as if driven by the drug to escape his self inflicted madness.

Hopefully the end,....