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Truck | Apr 10 2003

After my recent reading (of a story called Pervert, which includes a digression in which the protagonist offhandedly admits to have recently produced quite a bit of noise while coming (“I don’t know how much noise exactly, I was coming at the time, but let’s just say a lot, however much a lot may be—enough to rouse everyone in the building”)), a woman, hitherto a stranger to me, told me the following story.

She was having sex one night with a man she described as very hot, and she was a bit stoned at the time, and somehow this combination inspired her to emote a great deal more than usual while coming. The very hot man chastised her for doing this, saying he was afraid that someone in the building would call the police, which as you can imagine made her feel terrible, for here she had just had one of the best orgasms of her life and all the guy cared about was how it sounded to other people.

The next morning in the elevator on the way downstairs she overheard a conversation between two well-dressed women.

“Did you hear that racket last night?”

“My god. I couldn’t sleep after.”

“Me neither.”

“The nerve of these people.”

“It’s shameless, is what it is.”

“They don’t think about anybody else. For them the world consists of no one but themselves.”

“What I want to know is, why can’t they empty the garbage at a decent hour?”

“Or at least use a quieter truck.”