she's sitting on the steps leading up to our place.
i ask her how she's doing and she says something i don't understand, so i lean in to her.
she is beyond bombed.
please, i pray to myself, do not light up a cigarette.
and guess what - i still can't understand what she's saying.
she's waiting on our downstairs neighbor to come home.
she does not have a key.
it's cold. but hey, i'll bet she's warm (wink, nudge).
later, Brendan goes down to his truck, and she's still sitting there. still waiting. so, he decides to walk her over to the assistant manager's place to get the spare key.
meanwhile, we get to her her talk to herself and cry off and on. i don't want her up here (very unChristian of me, i realize). so she continues to sit.
then, i hear her pounding on the downstairs neighbor's door.
and still sounds drunk.
so yes, i called the police.
it's quiet now. but, like i told the dispatcher, one's for sure drunk, the neighbor might bloody well be drunk, and someone's gonna get hurt.
man. what a great example these elders are.
in other news...
my bad. Brendan doesn't find out about the job until Wednesday. and yes, i will let you know. i appreciate all your good wishes.
as does he.