He would lie in bed listening to screaming and yelling through paper thin walls; a couple next door, meth heads, bellowing out for God’s mercy. Kicking and punching each other. A child crying in the background. Rage, pure rage, and hatred thrown about along with dishes, shoes, knives, hammers, cutting boards, heavy objects, and malice. There’s no place like home, the old man would say, then go back to listening to tempers fly.

The old man was awakened the next morning by cops knocking at his door. He could see the squad car and an ambulance behind them. A young man in cuffs placed into the back of the cop car, his girlfriend on a stretcher. EMS guys closing doors.

Did you hear anything last night? the officer asked the old man. Anything? Did you see anything?

No, the old man said. No, I didn’t.

He then closed his door and went back to sleep.