“I don’t know what he does either”. “Do you think he’s a drug dealer or something?” “How the fuck would I know, I hardly ever see him and there’s never any noise in there.” “If he was dealing drugs, there’d be people coming and going all the time, I never see anyone going in there except him.”
Darlene glanced at the mute door of Apt. 305, shrugged and told June that she and Grant could keep her cat for a bit tonight. “Just don’t feed him any liver, makes him shit all over the place.”
“Okay, toodles!” said June as she headed back down the hallway to her apartment with Rusty the cat rubbing his head on the bottom of her chin as he purred happily. At least cats she understood. She heard Darlene’s door shut as she reached her own apartment. The sounds of a hockey game came from inside as she opened the door to a pile of dishes in the kitchen sink and a husband sprawled on the couch watching the game on TV. “It’s Rusty the Cat!” said Grant as he propped himself up further on his elbow and grabbed his beer off the coffee table.
“Yeah, Darlene says he can stay here for a few hours for a visit, just don’t go feeding him no liver!” “I’m not gonna feed the fucking cat any liver”, said Grant, rolling his eyes in disgust. “’Sides, we can’t afford any liver, remember?” “Yeah, well whose fucking fault is that ya lazy bastard!” said June in disgust. “If you’d get a full time job maybe we could afford some real luxuries like liver!” “I don’t see you out there bustin’ your fat ass for living”, replied Grant, taking another swig of his beer in anticipation of yet another Saturday night argument with his wife. “Go fuck yourself!” snarled June as she took the cat in to the bedroom with her for a nap. “Moody bitch...” mumbled Grant as he settled down again on the couch and turned up the TV just a touch, just enough to annoy his wife.

Across from 305, the old man lit another cigarette as he went for another beer. Heading back to his living room, he cranked up the AC/DC that he’d been listening to. It felt good to be drunk and the sounds of “Back In Black” took him back to years gone by. “Fuck it! Yeah!” He turned it up a lot louder and began singing along.

Craig and Sharon had got their apartment despite the misgivings of the property manager. Craig, 21 and Sharon, 20, were just seen as being too young. But they got in on the second try by having his dad co-sign the lease. They didn’t know much about their neighbour in 305 except that he was quiet and home a lot. Seemed like a loner. A good target. Craig enjoyed inviting his friends and their friends over for a night of drinking and drugs out on the balcony that they shared with 305. The guy in 305 had asked them to be quiet and respect their neighbours, Craig just grinned and made sure that everyone had lots of booze and lots of drugs and made as much noise as they could. It was good fun tormenting a quiet loner, it made Craig feel important, like he was accomplishing something. “Make sure you slam that fucking door on the way out!” he laughed to his friends. “Drives the guy next door nuts!” The door was slammed many times, the music was played and cigarette butts were tossed over the balcony partition. Craig was where he was meant to be, doing what came naturally.

The music played, the doors slammed, the people shrieked and screamed and laughed and fought. The man in 305 heard it all as he lay on his couch. He heard the smash of beer bottles, the scream of women, the yelling and the door slamming. He wished he was someplace else, but he knew that was impossible. He was here, now.
He closed his eyes, put his arm over his head as he lay stretched out on the couch. He felt the noise and the chaos around him as if Humanity had spun out of control, as if nothing mattered anymore except the urge to make sounds, the urge to impose your presence on others through sheer brutality.
He thought of peace and quiet, he thought of people acting in a respectful manner to their neighbours and themselves. He felt the anger and self-hatred of the people who slammed doors, fought with each other, dropped beer bottles from balconies – the people who created nothing but chaos and revelled in it all. The man in 305 also felt the strength of solitude, the happiness that came from peace and quiet, the sense of self-respect that came from respecting others.

He closed his eyes and thought about a world full of Darlenes, Junes, Grants, Craigs and Sharons. He thought of how pointless such a world is. What a waste it is. He thought of how peaceful a world it would be if all of these people would respect themselves and others. He smiled slightly at his own naivety. Yet, at the same time, he felt an energy flowing through him, a sense of what is right and what is wrong with no moral ambiguities.
The man in 305 opened his eyes, sat up on his couch and listened. The man in 305 hadn’t been out of his apartment in days. It was a beautifully sunny day. He got up, picked up his keys and went out into the hallway of his building. It was quiet, it was peaceful. He smiled and went out for a walk.