About 20 minutes after I typed the last blog post, the dude at the bookstore decides to tweak the volume knob upwards again.
I look out the window and there is a handful of aging hippies standing about, and it looks like this isn't gonna improve any time soon.
So what do I do?
I play narc and, with the help of google, find the non-emergency Cleveland police number and make the call.
Now I feel sick to my stomach and guilty for being a tattle-tale, but still. I pay money to live here. And I tried to approach them like a person.
3 years ago