Moans, grunts, and the ever-audible symphony of squeaking bedsprings are floating around me, as I stretch out on a dusty red sofa. The door opposite of me is slightly ajar...the damn thing hasn't shut right since that day Charlie got drunk and tried to drop-kick it. In a sliver of 4 or maybe 5 inches, I can see the thin tan back of some unknown girl, trying to prove to someone (anyone) that she's beautiful. The muscles in her shoulders tense and rock back and forth...sliding in and out of view. "Oh god, harder, fuck me harder!" Apparently, Charlie gets the message, and five seconds later, the headboard begins to pound against the wall, in a frantic pace.
   The whiny voice of Kurt Cobain is drifting into my ear, from the cd player perched on the coffee table across from me, but I can't really hear it. "Keep the noise down, god dammit!" But they won't listen. The girl continues to moan and squeal with delight. And Charlie continues to thrust the headboard into the wall. "God dammit," I think to myself, groping around the floor for something to throw. Wrapping my fingers around the sole of one of my Chuck Taylors, I toss the shoe across the room. It hits the wall with a dull thud. There's a brief pause...and just as I begin to think "Thank god, they finally stopped..." the pounding starts again. "Keep the fucking noise down!" I scream again. Without even a second of hesitation, Charlie screams "Fuck you!" back out to me.
   I reach my hand out for my other Chuck Taylor, but instead by fingers land on the cd player.
   So I crank up the volume, until the speakers are vibrating under my fingertips, and then I roll over and bury my face in the cushion.