For the third night in a row there are people having a party, somewhere, along my street.
I can hear them talking and laughing in their garden.
I can smell their cigarette smoke through my open window.
I can hear the rattle of beer bottles as they are thrown into the recycle bin.
Music blares away until the early hours.
I’m so jealous sitting here, miserable and alone, night after night.
I mean, I can be fun too you know.
Well, kind of.