She Will Rock You

So I'm 75% sure that my upstairs neighbor is a stripper.

She comes in at 3am and clops around her apartment in high heels. I know because I'm not the world's heaviest sleeper and the sound of high heels on uninsulated concrete is unmistakable. What other profession brings one home an hour after bar close in high heels every night? Waitress? No server I know would spend 8 hours on their feet in heels. Trader on the Asian Desk? She would be in New York, not ATL. Nope. She's a stripper.

Not that I'm judging. It's not the world's most noble profession, but what is, really? And I've known some great girls who paid their rent in ones.

But look, Stripper, take the shoes off when you walk in the door, huh? One man's ceiling, and all that. We're not precisely on the same schedule.

Oh, plus, last night featured a bit of shouting a heavily closed door and more rapid heels on concrete. So of course now I'm drafting my police report in my head and certainly in no danger of falling asleep again. Even lavender on the temples didn't work. And then I get Queen's "Killer Queen" stuck in my head and it doesn't fade away until I get in my car to go to work and Queen's "We are the Champions" is on the radio. Weird.