The man who lives in the apartment above me murders people.
I suppose it’s slanderous to say this, but I’m at least 14% sure and that’s pretty darn sure for someone as indecisive as me.
The evidence is pretty damning.
I mean, we don’t hear murder-y sounds coming through the vents and there is no stench of blood coming from the dumpsters. There also aren’t a lot of missing people in our neighbourhood.
But he does do laundry every morning at 6:30am.
He’s an older gentleman who lives alone and either owns one pair of underwear (in which case he should just buy a few value packs of Fruit of the Loom since it would cost less than the energy costs of daily laundry) or has a raging case of OCD.
Or he murders people!
At the annual BBQ I tried to do some subtle investigative work by asking questions like “Had he ever been to prison?” or “Does he ever succumb to murderous rages?” but rather than getting any good answers I just got awkward laughter and uncomfortable silence.
The uncomfortable silence of guilt, perhaps?
Kevin has asked me to not encourage our neighbours to think we are giant weirdos but I think that it’s much weirder to do daily laundry at 6:30 in the morning than it is to ask thoughtful and engaging questions at social event.
… I don’t think I won that argument …
I hope that my upstairs neighbour is not somehow a devoted follower of this blog. I mean, I have no qualms about murderers reading my blog I just don’t want to make things awkward in the elevator.
Or at least make things any more awkward than they are after our encounter at the BBQ …
Alas, dear reader, I suppose I will never know the truth.