not going to borrow a cup a sugar
I have a lot of crazy neighbors. seems to come with the territory when you live in LA. but I have none as scary as this - a friend emailed to tell me about his new "friend."
someone has moved in downstairs who honestly makes my flesh crawl -- and it's not just me. I was sitting on the porch downstairs having a glass of Chardonnay with a friend because it was too hot in my apartment. The new downstairs guy approaches on the front walk and I swear to God he looks like a character out of a David Lynch film, walking bug-eyed with his head cocked to one side, and his right hand is covered with a silvery latex glove: and he's gripping something, really, really tight -- something thin and metalic...and I think, omigod, it's a scapel. As I get this massive adrenaline rush, he says "I live here" with totally flat affect, deadpan. At this point I have enough adrenaline in my blood to rip a car door off it's hinges, but he asks me my name and heads to his front door, taking off his shoes, leaving them on the front doorstep and slipping inside his totally barren apartment like some kind of evil spirit. I turned to my friend and I said, "was it just me, or..." and he said, "that guy looks just like a serial killer. For real." He was out moving the car with latex gloves this morning -- and his front doorstep is covered with small scraps of paper he's torn from something.
and he followed that up with:
Really, the whole experience just creeped the living daylights out of us both. And the apartment is EMPTY. And when he sees me, it's not something new-guyish like"oh, hello there! Gosh, I'm your new neigbhor, isn't that swell?" Just, "I live here." Almost a challenge. The only missing touch was a thin string of saliva trailing from a burst of foam at the corner of his mouth.
someone has moved in downstairs who honestly makes my flesh crawl -- and it's not just me. I was sitting on the porch downstairs having a glass of Chardonnay with a friend because it was too hot in my apartment. The new downstairs guy approaches on the front walk and I swear to God he looks like a character out of a David Lynch film, walking bug-eyed with his head cocked to one side, and his right hand is covered with a silvery latex glove: and he's gripping something, really, really tight -- something thin and metalic...and I think, omigod, it's a scapel. As I get this massive adrenaline rush, he says "I live here" with totally flat affect, deadpan. At this point I have enough adrenaline in my blood to rip a car door off it's hinges, but he asks me my name and heads to his front door, taking off his shoes, leaving them on the front doorstep and slipping inside his totally barren apartment like some kind of evil spirit. I turned to my friend and I said, "was it just me, or..." and he said, "that guy looks just like a serial killer. For real." He was out moving the car with latex gloves this morning -- and his front doorstep is covered with small scraps of paper he's torn from something.
and he followed that up with:
Really, the whole experience just creeped the living daylights out of us both. And the apartment is EMPTY. And when he sees me, it's not something new-guyish like"oh, hello there! Gosh, I'm your new neigbhor, isn't that swell?" Just, "I live here." Almost a challenge. The only missing touch was a thin string of saliva trailing from a burst of foam at the corner of his mouth.
Meanwhile, I've seen no moving trucks and no sign of any possessions -- outside of the ju-ju spirit making his corpse walk, that is.
posted by marissa @ 11:55 AM
1 Comments:
but when they actually catch a serial killer all his neighbors say."He seemed like such a nice guy, really normal."
I think your friend's neighbor is probably OK, though he might bore her to death.
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