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Mallet | Apr 12 2002

The woman upstairs (I’m at Rachel’s) is screaming at her kid. I can’t tell what she’s screaming this time, because I’m in the living room and you can’t really hear that well from the living room. The place to hear her from is Rachel’s bedroom, particularly at three o’clock in the morning when all else is quiet.

At three o’clock in the morning, she’s usually screaming stuff like, “GET. BACK. IN. BED. NOW.” Evidently her kid wakes up and wants to sleep with her and her husband. You have to hear this woman scream to know how scary it is. You feel she might as well be clobbering the kid with a mallet.

The kid cries the whole time; wails, really. When it gets to be too much for the woman, she switches to screaming at him to stop crying—“STOP. CRYING. STOP. CRYING. STOP. CRYING.”—which as you can imagine does a fuck of a lot of good.