Dear Neighbours,

please stop cooking insanely yummy-smelling food every day while I sit here, sad and alone, eating instant wonton soup and undercooked spaghetti.

For example, today, I can smell Roast Beef and Baked Potatoes. I am envisioning the beef, piled high on plates in a rich brown colour, cooked medium-rare (just how my daddy says it should be done) and sprinkled with dried herbs to bring out the flavour. I see you sipping on wine while you stab your fork into the crispy skin of the potatoes, with tartar sauce and butter mixed to perfection. And just earlier today I smelt you baking cakes, possibly chocolate, maybe it’s the molten-caramel in the centers that’s making the air smell especially sweet today. are you having that for dessert?

And dinner, tonight I will dine on bento, the kind that they feed you at kids camps, where the vegetable sauce leaks over and make the sadly fried chicken soggy and tough to eat. the kind that makes your fork break when you try to cut it. I imagine that tonight, you will be having Smoked Salmon and Sauteed Mushrooms, with Spaghetti Carbonara. I see you sipping on apple juice, the sparkling kind that tickles your tummy. I see you having apple pie, not that crap from Maccers, but the really yummy ones that melt in your mouth and warm your throat up.

Please, dear neighbours, I have never entertained the thought of house-breaking so strongly as I have today, for all I am eating is a stale oat cookie.

The Lonely Girl That Lives Above Your Flat.


(the only ray of hope was a text asking “hey, dinner on thursday?”. meh)


2 thoughts on “Dear Neighbours,

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