Quiet riot

I love Sundays, particularly because they are quiet here in residence land. All the drunks are hungover in bed, puking up whatever they ate while intoxicated the night before.

It's lovely.

And the bitch part of me longs to run up and down the hallways, banging on pots and screeching at the very tip top of my lungs in retaliation of their yelling and pounding on various surfaces in the wee hours of the morning.