NYC neighbours

Well last night I finally saw my pugnacious neighbours in the flesh. They were walking upstairs as I was descending, and Frank Booth the maniac himself courteously stopped to let me through. He looks more like Neil Young than Dennis Hopper, but still crazy as hell. Before I actually saw them, I could hear him ranting, "So I told him, 'I love my wife.' You know I love you baby but sometimes you make me mad," to which she was replying, "Yeah....yeah....yeah, I know, I know..." She was wearing a very strange wig - there are a lot of women in this city wearing ill-fitting wigs, but they also dress in a manner which reveals they are adherents of a rather old-fashioned faith. Mrs Booth looked more scarecrow than Satmar. She's certainly seen a few Marlboro Reds in her time, or spent her youth baking on the beach. Once I was a few flights of stairs below them, I heard him say, "Damn that's a nice smelling perfume that lady is wearing." "Yeah, it is," she agreed. Coco by Chanel. Even deranged psychopaths can have good taste.