Talked to my son Dylan yesterday. He lives in the big city, in an apartment. He's not too wild about apartment living. His downstairs neighbors, the Bickersons, fight like cats and dogs. He doesn't like this. Especially since, one night they were fighting so badly he couldn't sleep. He came out to watch TV, hoping to fall asleep on his couch. Within minutes, there was pounding on his door. It was Mr. Bickerson. "Do you know what time it is?" he demanded. "You need to turn down your TV." And Mr. Bickerson indignantly stormed back downstairs to continue fighting with Mrs. Bickerson.
Knowing about all of this, I asked Dylan if the Bickersons were still bickering. "Actually, no," he said in an amazed voice. "I'm starting to wonder if one of them killed the other."
I said, "Well, if you notice an odor, you'd best call the police." Joking. Sort of. After all, he lives in the big city. Just after he started work, a son stabbed his father to death in the factory parking lot. Big cities make me nervous.
Dylan thought about it. "Nah," he answered. "I think the smell would be a lot easier to deal with than the noise.