Since I have lived in rental apartments for 10 years, I have seen a lot of locks in them.



The first rented apartment was one-room, with a girl - a neighbor Anya. Annie and I have been very close friends, and we still communicate today. I found the apartment very simply, went to the hospital, saw Annie's ad, signed up with her and the next day with my treasure entered. On the second day, Anne and I ate sushi and watched movies, on the third day we went to the ikee for dishes, and a week later we were already friends with the water.



We had two colourful neighbors on the staircase. On the right was a family, a wife, a husband, and their eight-year-old son. They were remarkable by the fact that the husband and wife expressed their feelings loudly at night, and the son tortured the piano in the morning on Saturdays and Sundays, and his skills for three years of torture did not advance even a yota. Well, we, young twenty-year-olds, absolutely not reacting to sounds, after a night shift in the restaurant (worked as waitresses), shuddered with all our strength, and in principle did not pay attention to external stimuli.



The second neighbor, from the opposite apartment, was remarkable for his drug addiction. She was constantly surrounded by some questionable male personalities in the apartment, she herself was often hooked at home. In principle, she also did not bother us very much, her description will be useful in further narrative.



One day I get up in the elevator with the neighbor who lived on the right and was loud at night. She quietly looked at me and suddenly asked:



Are you from 141?



and AGA. I answered carefully.



Noise at night. You laugh loud, the men lead! The neighbor answered angrily.



I look at her surprised. At night we work, we are not at home, of the men for the last six months we have been in guests only my cousin, and then for 5 minutes - brought potatoes from the village, parents passed on. Don’t be foolish, I say to my aunt:



You are very loud at night. And not only at night.



My aunt with the bullets flew out of the elevator and from that moment on she declared war on me and Anka. The first time they woke us up by a loud knock at the door at 4 a.m. “What are you cooking! Burn the whole house, the smoke is coming out of your door.” The neighbor’s husband. We asked only to answer, “Are you a firefighter? ! to “” After that, it fell down, naturally no one burned in the morning.



The second time a neighbor came to us at 2 o'clock at night, claiming that we were whispering the men in the apartment. And even walked around the house, looking into all the gaps and the balcony.



For the third time we are called by the owner of the apartment, accusing us that we are cooking drugs with Anya, her neighbor did not care that even the police came to us. I replied to the housewife that if we were cooking drugs, they would be successfully traded, and her rubbed hood would hardly be removed. She agreed.



For the fourth time, I was back home from training and on the staircase of the police. They asked me where I was from and took me to the apartment. There was a body covered with a plastic bag in the kitchen, and I was questioned whether I knew my neighbor, Iru (a drug addict), and what relationship I had with her. I honestly answered that I only greeted her sometimes, and I didn't even know the name, and in response asked what it was about. It turns out that this Iru was cut off by either a fellow resident, or one of the muddy personalities that periodically lived with her. I clarified a few more nuances and let go.



The next day, the hostess of our apartment arrived on all the pairs, and sprinkling with saliva, began to put our things outside the door. As it turned out, our beloved neighbor called her and said that I killed our neighbor narcotic (likely, the drugs were not shared, as she explained), and I was already taken with a shirt when I pulled Irka’s cut-off tail into the rubbish in my workout bag. Therefore, we criminals must immediately be expelled, and I, the murderer, and the Anka-sharing. To my reasonable questions, if so, why I was not in jail then, the hostess did not answer, but calmed down, gave us a week for expulsion. This is how we left our first home.