As I write this, it's 1:30am, and the streets outside the pension are filled with noise. Some sort of street party. There is this bird that's the last straw. If you combine the sounds of a squeaky mattress with a cricket chirp with nails on a chalkboard, you have the call of this bird. If I could kill it, I would. Nevermind. Now there are fireworks. And singing. It's gonna be a long night.