I've mentioned my near-naked neighbour before. Just opposite my living room window, he parades about in only boxer shorts in hot weather, freezing weather, any weather. He's good looking, has lovely muscles, a great tan... and the voice of a ladyboy hairdresser.With steely nerve and concentration, I've managed to ignore the voice and just concentrate on the looks, body and tan. I even steal a photo of him from time to time. Like this one from Saturday, when he came back from a couple of weeks away and decided to clean his windows...
It's pretty hazy, but I was hiding behind the bookshelves and the windows were closed.Anyway, Saturday night he had some friends round and at around midnight he put a DVD of a rock concert on his overlarge flatscreen TV and turned the sound up to 11. The concert was by Johnny Hallyday, perhaps the most un-hip artist that France has to offer. Now 65 years old, Johnny screeches out (I mean really bellows) lowest common denominator rock, has had multiple operations on his face to give him trout lips and slanty eyes, and has a wife over thirty years younger than him. Looking at him is scary, listening to him is torture.
To top it all, the whole apartment sung in unison as loud as possible, united in a beautiful moment of horrifying bad taste.So, it's decided; my hot neighbour isn't hot any more. At all. Well, perhaps still a bit.
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1 comments:
'Looking at him is scary, listening to him is torture.' i couldn't say it better myself.
did ya say he was just all-fake, all-fame marketed so-called rock-er ?
b-b-b-b-est, buoy
T.
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