I sat there tapping my fingers gently against the keyboard, hoping for some sort of muse to come crashing down into my living room. I reached for my coffee and took one small sip before spitting it back into the cup. It had finally grown cold. I stared down the My Little Pony mug without so much as a small blink, attempting to use the force to magically bring it back to its former scalding state. Unfortunately, the purple maned beast resisted.

And then...the drive to write finally hit me. I reached for the keyboard, trying to get it all down before it left the confines of my brain. I pressed down on the "I".

Creeeeeak!

It momentarily startled me, but I was dead set on resuming. I had reached one sentence on the blank page before me, but that was when the moaning above me pushed down through my ceiling. I reached for my long hair, nearly pulling it out in large clumps due to frustration. Silently I hoped that the man who was partaking in this late night escapade had lower stamina than most, but I began to doubt it as the minute hand kept moving and moving.

"Let's see how they like it," I reached for my remote and began browsing what late night television had to offer, until I came to one that would put their sound effects to shame. I turned the volume up louder and louder until it drowned out the couple residing above me.

The minutes continued to pass and I muted the terrifying volume on my television to see if the two of them had finally ceased, but unfortunately they kept going. Their noises caused me cringe so yet again I replaced their sounds with the equally fake ones on late night HBO.

"This is hopeless," I was inches from sobbing and turned off the television (since it wasn't doing any good). From outside the apartment I could hear at least two or three doors opening, followed by the small congregation speaking softly to one another. Following suit, I put on my panda robe and went outside to eavesdrop on all the commotion.

"Do people have no respect anymore?!" An older gentleman yelled. His small bright eyed wife clung closely to him with her pink curlers resting against his shoulder. They were speaking to the couple only two doors down from me. Both of them nodded in agreement.

"What's the problem?" I asked. The older man turned to me with distaste plastered to his wrinkled face.

"People are having--"

The small wife attached to him cut him off, "Don't say it, Charles." She shook her head in disgust.

After looking at his wife and patting her arm he looked back at me and whispered, "Relations... Very loudly I might add."

Hmmmm. This could work in my favor I thought to myself.

"It's the people right above me. They've been going at it for at least an hour," I stated.

"Are you sure?" The man asked.

I pushed open my door and extended my arm through the threshold, "Come hear for yourself."

The older couple took the invitation and walked hesitantly inside while the others just walked up to the entrance of my apartment. The older woman cringed and let out a high pitched yelp before covering her mouth. The noises from the frisky couple had grown louder. The man just pursed his lips and shook his head.

"Should we call the cops?" I asked.

"Let's try getting their attention first," he looked over at me, "do you have a broom?"

I nodded and ran to the closet and returned with it. The man took hold of the broom and banged the handle repeatedly against the ceiling.

"Hey! Keep it down up there!"

Unfortunately, it continued.

"Charles," his wife spoke up, "maybe we should go knock on their door..."

"That's a great idea, sweet pea," he gave his wife a small peck on the forehead.

We took the elevator as a group, picking up more concerned tenants on my level along the way: the mid 20s nerd couple at the end of hall, the cat lady four doors down from me, and the man directly next door to me who towered well over six foot with intimation radiating off him. Our small posse made their way down the hall in search of the culprits. It was almost reminiscent of a witch hunt, minus the pitchforks and the bad hygiene.

I stopped at the door right above my apartment and leaned my ear against the cold painted wood. The moans were muffled but there.

"It's this one," I said to the group. Charles hit the doorbell and we waited patiently to lash out at them. After only thirty seconds the sounds of footsteps made their way from the other side of the door, but they were odd sounding. The rhythm wasn't quite normal. The door opened slowly and a man at least seventy years old and with a walker stepped out and looked at all the angry faces with confusion.

"Is there a problem?" He asked.

"You need to keep your--"

Charles's wife slapped him gently on the arm and he rolled his eyes.

"Relations," he enunciated, "to a lower volume. We can hear it all throughout the level below you."

"Oh dear me," he replied, "I'm very sorry. It won't happen again." The older gentleman's leather skin reddened as he gently closed his door. We turned and looked at each other in utter shock with our jaws dropped to our feet.

"Well that was awkward," Charles stated.

His wife slapped him softly once more, "You could learn something from him."

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