The babies are in the air ducts again.
I hardly bother to ring the landlord any more, he gets sick and tired of the bother, and it’s only me that complains. On the edge of the differential zone, the babies are the least of it.
Although, at least the other things around here don’t talk to me. Last night, soaking in the bath, one of the babies started to talk to me; a high pitched lisping parody of a child, it said filthy things through the fan vent, distorted by the air conditioning. In the end I vomited into the sink before sleeping on the sofa, with the TV running a white noise signal from a generator I bought a week ago. I find it easier to sleep with it running, drowning out all the sounds from outside, and sometimes drowning out the sounds from inside too.