Someone was losing their shit and it wasn't in Number 3. The sounds of objects being hurled across the room were well within earshot of anyone sitting on the stairwell and the foul language clearly audible to a small boy sitting on the steps waiting for his dad to come home.
"Fucking things . . " A female voice was going off tap. "$150 bucks for you cheap ass pieces of shit. Water wicking capability I'll be damned. Slimming . . .lose 2 kilos in a week . . that's some bullshit right there."
The door from the middle apartment on the first floor opened with a flamboyant jerk as a scrunched black chunk of fabric is hurled across the hallway, narrowly missing the small boy with pen and paper in his hand and unravelling just centimetres before the front doorway.
"Good riddance..." mumbled the voice before slamming her front door so hard that the dried flower wreath adorning it's knocker smashed to the floor, papery petals drifting like airborne feathers down the hall.
Apparently, these super high tech leggings were supposed to speed up fat loss, flatten your stomach, reduce muscle fatigue, smooth cellulite, and moisturize your gams all that the same time. Sound like something you'd never want to take off?
"Hi, I'm Alicia. Just moved into Sanctuary Gardens at 2 on the ground floor. Please feel free to make yourself known. I'd love to be a good neighbour and share some more brownies and get to know you."