Barkey McPoodle: The dog, that, shortly after the Iowa caucus, began barking from some adjecent apartment from 7:30am to 10:00 am and 5:30pm to 7pm. He is uncowed. He will not shut up. His barks end in circular sounding whines. There is a locked wifi network near us named Barkey McPoodle, so either the owner KNOWINGLY leaves their dog to cry during key hours or some other apartment dweller has also some passive aggresiveness against the dog.
Zach and Questlove: Our nickname for the (hetero) couple who lives to the east of our bedroom. The wall between our abodes is both thin and echoey. So if the two of them have a conversation in what I assume is their living room, we hear all of it.
His name is Zach, but we don’t know her name, because, even when he’s pissed at her, he calls her babe.
“BABEEEE (drunk) I ALWAYS COME HOME. I LOVE YOU BAAABE”
Zach and questlove’s relationship has, shall we say, appeared to deteriorate since New Year. We heard them arguing about what to pack on New Year’s Eve and from then we’ve mainly heard increasing angst and high-level arguments (no violence though, thank god).
It occurs to me that Barkey McPoodle might be related to this decline, but for some reason, I cannot place him inside Zach and Questlove’s apartment. His cries appear to emanate from all corners of our apartment. He is loud in the living room near the window, loud in the closet closest to Z&Qs, and loud in our bathroom which is far away and where we also hear the inhabitants of another apartment arguing in Spanish and listening to crappy adult contemporary radio (but only in the bathroom).
Perhaps Barkey McPoodle is a ghost. This building has existed since the 1950s.
