Hoors? Yeah... Hoors. Prostitutes, Tarts, Hookers, Ladies of Negotiable Affection, call them what you will. For 8 years or so I lived in granite tenement. My Neighbours Were Hoors. Sadly for us all (!?) the brothel was closed down and I moved out of the area. I never did get around to writing about the court case though...

Wednesday, March 24, 2004


Do I ever hear the sounds of passion? I was asked.

Not from my flat up here. Not above the bloody racket of the psycho raver downstairs anyway. However, you do occasionally hear the comedy-springs-of-passion. You never hear them in Hollywood movies.

Eeeh-ee! Eeeh-ee! Eeeh-ee! Eee-eee-eee-eee-eee-eeeeehhh!

Then there was another time... the mail falls down behind the tennement door and i had to bend down to pick it up. It must have been something about that particular spot in the wall I was bending down next to, because all I heard was "Wha-tsssssh!" "uh!" "What-tssssssh!" "ow!" "Wha-tssssssh!"

They must be branching out...

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