Neighbor: I know you don’t like me and, tbh, the feeling is mutual. You scowl at everyone, avoid eye contact, shout obscenities, and play the WORST REGGAE AT THE HIGHEST VOLUME, ALL DAY LONG.
And it’s not just bad reggae—it’s the same bad reggae again and again. If you can’t afford headphones, please broaden your playlist; I’ve memorized the nine or ten songs you have on repeat.
I wasn’t always a reggae hater; as a teenager I even listened ON PURPOSE. Ska, dub, rocksteady, two-tone, I once paid money to see Yellowman! Eventually, I noticed that reggae fans are the most uptight dudes in the world (that includes you, Neighbor), and that kind of ruined it for me. Then I didn’t think about it. Then you moved in; an ex-Marine with anger issues. So I kept quiet.
But then YOU got quiet, and now I’m concerned. At least when you were blasting your tunes, it seemed like you were blowing off steam. Now you’re a quiet, scowling ex-Marine who doesn’t like me. To fill the eerie silence, I guess, I’ve started listening to a lot of Studio One comps. And you know what? They’re pretty great.
Maybe we should hang out sometime?
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