So last night when I was finishing up my first blog, someone buzzes my apartment. Now, I live in apartment 1 in my building so I’m used to it. When I first lived here I would actually ask who it was through the intercom, only to be answered with – ‘uhhh, I left my keys inside…..can you let me in? …..I um…I live here….’. Right….But at 1:30 in the morning, it kinda freaks a girl out. So I stop typing and just sit there, listening. Then someone knocks on the window behind me, and my heart leaps into my throat. I sit completely still, cuz if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Jurassic Park, it’s that if you don’t move, a predator can’t see you. So after a couple seconds of envisioning bullets flying through the window, my grisly murder splashed across the morning’s news and contemplating what to do, I decided I had to move. I slowly slid from the couch onto the floor and made my way across the room and into the safety of my bathroom. After a couple seconds of silence, I calmed down a bit, only to jump at a harsh knock at my door. And like every mystery/suspense/horror movie where you yell at the unknowing victim onscreen- ‘Don’t go in there! He’s right behind the curtain! In the head! Hit the zombie in the head!’, curiosity compelled me forward. I tip-toed across the floor (very stealthily I might add) and looked out the peephole. And what should I see? Cops. I breathe a sigh of relief at the thought that my fear wasn’t fueled by some crazed madman wandering around the artsy (with a tinge of ghetto) area of east Uptown, but by cops looking for some delinquent/domestic abuse/drunk case no doubt. I watch them through the peephole going up and down the stairs, muttering cop-like things to each other. Becoming bored with the situation, I walk into my bedroom and put on a hoodie. Knock! Knock! I freeze, and not wanting to get carted away in the backseat of a cop car for not answering them the first time, I count to 10 slowly so it seems like I’ve been sleeping this whole time. I open the door to your stereotypical cop, half expecting him to be twirling a nightstick and brushing doughnut crumbs off his shirt. This is how it went down: ‘Sorry to bother you ma’am, do you talk to any of your neighbors?’ ‘No.’ ‘Have you heard any ruckus?’ ‘Tonight? No.’ ‘Ok, sorry to bother you.’ And then he walks down the hall to join his cop friend who was talking with a tennant who apparently looked like he would know a little more about dirty dealings of the suspicious nature. I shut the door, locked the locks, and thought – ‘This would make a great blog. Tomorrow.’
Already hooked 
It’s coming from inside the house,
Angela
aka ‘The Halfrican’
