In his play No Exit, Sartre famously wrote: “You don’t need red-hot pokers: Hell is — other people! ” (pas besoin de gril: l’enfer, c’est les autres). (Several years ago, I used to keep a copy of No Exit at my desk with my usual stack of software engineering books — it seemed to fit right in with books like Death March.)
I have a new definition of hell: when you’re working at home and someone on your street who apparrently has a LOT of time on his hands procures a drum set.
2 thoughts on “Hell is. . . .”
Just wanted to say that I’m feeling your pain. My upstairs neighbors, who have been extremely quiet for the 6 months I’ve lived here, have this week decided to take up stomping back and forth across their living room at 1:30 in the morning like some sort of psycho insomniac lemmings stuck between two blockers. Where’s the “nuke ’em” button in the game of life?
Hey Chad, I think you should invest in those expensive (Bose?) headphones that block out a lot of noise. Good for planes, trains, and shitty drummers who live on your street.
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