I walked home from the tavern with the stars over my head, shining brightly due to lack of human light from the village. The cobblestone was hard to navigate after several pints. I compare the experience to walking on the deck of a rocking ship. Though obviously the street was not rocking. I was. And whistling, naturally. I considered a taxi but had not enough money. Besides, the night air was good for me. Right? It was sea air, which I always favor. This is a street, not an alley. But it’s too narrow for automobile traffic. Someone yells at me from above. They want me to stop whistling. It’s 3 in the morning, they say. Damn, really? The late hour crosses my mind but I continue to whistle. Louder, I think. I don’t give a damn if it’s distracting. This person should try living in the city. There, you hear sirens and other traffic all night. You can’t tell sirens to shut up. Well, you can try. But then you just appear crazy. The man walking past me matches my whistle tone and nods as he passes. Brilliant. Do I warn him about the complainer up ahead? No. To hell with them. I almost pass my street because I’m stuck on this thought. Hard left. Key’s in first try. No lift in this building. Seven flights it is. But I make it.
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