And speaking of impromtu performances, there's been a series of highly choreographed 'rumbles' in the alley below my window. I used to enjoy watching it, but now I'm severely tempted to throw open my window and shout, "Hey, Jerome Robbins, ya asshole! Take your interpretive dance troupe somewhere else; I've got work in the morning!". The bright lights, the clomping feet, and the shouting are really cutting into my sleep time. And the music! I don't know WHO brings a fuckin' xylophone to a knife fight, but I wish that guy would get stabbed first. An honest-to-God XYLOPHONE, no fooling.
Oh, but these loudmouths don't just restrict themselves to my alley. More than once, I've pulled my car into the underground garage just to find those hoodlums down THERE, dancing in the glare of a jalopy's headlights. Mr. Lupinski, have you ever had a group of crouching, clean-cut ruffians advance on you, snapping their fingers as they glide effortlessly across the floor? It's scary as hell, I tell ya; I served in the war and I still almost pissed myself when they did that. Then a short little guy with a big forehead, face like he got the business of a shovel, tried to stab me. Thankfully, the blade was a retractable stage one, but the whole experience left me shaken.
As a slumlord, I expect you to deal with this promptly. I'm not paying $75 dollars a month just to deal with annoyances like this. Rats, I can deal with. Leaks? No problem. But I CANNOT live with people that insist on creatively choreographed musical interpretations of a William Shakespeare play.