Every night around 1am, when the last drunk has gone to sleep, I lay in my bed knowing my neighbors will be fucking like jack-rabbits less than five feet away from me. A static noise in my stereo system lets me know that my neighbor has just switched their bed lamp on, creating that split-second of a short-circuit resulting in a bop-like pop sound. "Do they really don't know we can hear them getting it on every night?" I ask myself, as behind the paper thin walls made of drywall in this 1970s apartment complex one might be lonely, but you'll never be alone. For the next 20 minutes or so, her girly moans will bring back a lot of memories -- not of things I had done but of things I had failed to do, wasted hours and frustrated moments and opportunities forever lost because time had eaten so much of my life and I would never get it back.
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