>So get this: Mr. Noisy Downstairs Neighbor has gout.
No, really! He told me so himself.
I didn’t know people still got that! I thought you had to be Henry VIII or John Milton to get gout, not a hip-hop loving, slow-talking, big-walking, child-indulging, pot-smoking, 30-something duuuuude in 21st century Rust Belt Historic District. (Then again, you should see the copious amounts of beer bottles in the recycling bin each week. Perhaps that has something to do with it.)
Part of me wants to say: sweet, sweet, poetic justice! But that would be mean. And besides, dangit all, it just makes him noisier because now he’s on crutches!