Man Or Beast

The bedroom in my old East Village apartment faced an air-shaft. One summer evening I had to listen to a woman in the throes of pleasure for hours. My hillbilly girlfriend hollered for her to shut up. She was more the quiet type. The same scenario repeated itself night after night. Moving into the living slightly eased the noise. My girlfriend and I figured the woman was living two stories above us and my friend was giving her the business. My girlfriend wanted me to speak with him and the next morning I confronted Bill on the stairs. "We need to talk." "Yeah, we do." "Can you do something about your girl's screaming?" "My girl's screaming? I thought it was you." "No, it's not me." "Well, if not you, then who?" The door opened for the fourth floor apartment and out stepped two very content-looking females. One was petite and the other was three times the man Bill and I would ever be in this lifetime. We moved out of their way. Even back in the 70s a man knew his place amongst his betters.