I think my neighbor is sick

Few days ago, I woke up early in the morning and I heard the radio from the other side of the wall. I looked at my phone and saw that it was already 7 AM, which meant that my neighbor didn’t go to work. Mr. D has been my neighbor for the last few years, and he’s quite a character. I always wondered how his childhood was, and how did he become what he is. In order for you to realize who is Mr. D, let me describe a day in his life.

Mr. D wakes up everyday at 5:30 AM and the first thing he’s doing right after that is turning on the radio, because he cannot tolerate a second of silence, it reminds him of how lonely he is. He goes to pee in silence and prepares his sandwiches for work while he’s drinking his coffee.

20 Minutes afterwards he opens his door using all the violence and frustration that he has inside of him, and the result is heard through the entire building, so this is usually when I wake up just to realize that it’s still early end go to sleep again. I just read that one in every one hundred men is a psychopath and I wonder if I was lucky enough to share a wall with one of this elite group. Anyway, he slams the door like a maniac and then turning the key inside the lock with so much anger that makes you admire the key’s resistance. I don’t what is his job, but there’s no doubt that he’s not seated in an office or doing any delicate work with his hands.

He’s the kind of man that doesn’t need fingers, he uses his palm as just one unit.

I can only imagine that he’s work includes a lot of brutality, because one day he told me that the only thing he wants to do when getting back home is to shout and swear, which he’s persistently does every single day. He gets back home around 6:30 PM and starts playing online video games with people half his age while yelling at them for not doing their job. He would do that for a few hours until he falls asleep. On weekends he enjoys going to the local cemetery to visit some of the heroes from another period, back when the country had some dignity. He once told me that he’s sorry for missing the best years of his country, back when people had some respect and men were men and some weird feminine creatures.

He is the kind of person that was just born in the wrong moment.

He would have prospered during the war when he could canalize all of his violence legally and heroically towards the enemy, and he would love to have a submissive wife that would have obeyed and respect him, not like his ex-wife which he once described as a filthy feminist. He has a big heart, but too many failures and rejection made him bitter and resentful. I remember one Sunday seeing him feeding the pigeons in the little park beneath my balcony, and then as the pigeons got closer to him, he couldn’t help it and started kicking them. I once saw Mr. D walking on the street with a woman and a young girl which I imagine were his ex-wife and child.

I saw them and I hided because I felt like I’m not supposed to see it, because for me Mr.

D is the guy behind the wall, the guy that never opened his door for me and all that I know about him was collected carefully through listening and observing from a safe distance. I think he’s sick because I heard him coughing and the radio was on during the whole day. There are many sick people in our building and it’s hard to tell why, but their disease cannot be cured be medicines and I’m afraid that Mr. D will be coughing for the rest of his life because his emotions couldn’t find other way to get out.