Illinoir

Word count: 32216
Percent complete: 64.43
Estimated completion date: Nov 22

Exiting through the kitchen again, I am stunned by the wall of sound that hits me. The rain has died down to the point that outside travel is no longer life threatening. I walk down the back stairs leaning now not against the wind but against the noise. It has a physical presence out here. I picture it as a monster with a diabolically evil face. It rears up and takes a swipe at me, forcing me to cower back in fear. I gather my wits and will and cross the yard to the garage. Struggling against the cacophony, I open the door and face my nemeses.
The band is in the middle of a cover of a Portishead song that until I hear them murder it, I am quite fond of. They look up at my entrance but do not bother to stop or even to acknowledge my presence.
I try yelling for them to stop a couple times but it is no use. The music is even louder within the confines of the garage. The band members are all wearing earplugs – an idea I have contemplated of late. I wait for them to finish and then I speak again.
“Hey! Guys!” I yell, the ringing in my ears causing me to speak louder than usual.
“What?” yells the bassist.
“Can you take the earplugs out?”
“What?” he repeats.
I mime the act of removing earplugs. I never thought I’d have to do this. “Take. The. Earplugs. Out!”
They comply. “What do you want, dude?” asks the singer.
“Guys. It’s two in the morning. I’ve had a long day. I just want to go to bed. I’m sure the entire neighborhood just wants to go to bed. Do you think you could call it a night?”
“But we just got started,” complains the guitarist, a sallow-faced kid of about 20.
“We don’t have to listen to this guy,” says the singer.
“Actually, yes you do,” I say. “You are breaking so many noise ordinances right now I can’t even begin to name them. And you’re being incredibly bad neighbors.”
“You think we give a shit?”
“I’m starting to think that you don’t.”
“Exactly. Now get the fuck out of here.”
I really wish I still had that gun. I don’t want to shoot the kid, but I would love to scare him a little.
Actually, I’d love to shoot him. I’ve never shot anyone before but this one seems like a prime candidate to start on.
“I don’t think so.”
“Fine then, we’ll just keep on practicing.” He turns to address his band mates. They replace their earplugs. “Alright, let’s do ‘Two Carts Full of Crap.’ Ready? 1…2…3…4….”