Wrote '15 days' after a trip to Prague for new years' 2000. Came home to move into an empty apartment with two other kids I'd never met and who wouldn't arrive for another week. The university was only a block away. Rent was fairly cheap and I had to save money cuz I didn't have any coming in; my funds were shot getting into the university. We were living in a 'hlm', some French acronym for mid-rise low-income housing. Mostly old ladies lived in our building, a few lower middle class single parents, some immigrant workers. A day or two after moving in, I set up the drum set, just to see if I could get away with some light jazzing and goofing around with brushes. I was in a jazz band with ben from England and Ron from Ireland at the time. We practiced at Ron's place downtown with his wife and two kids. Ben would busk with his guitar on the streets for extra money. Anyway, I'm just playin, feelin like a douche, just trying to be soft and quiet when suddenly I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. My heart leaps into my throat; my ears flood with a rush of blood. This stooped 4-foot-nothin' craggy silhouette is hunkering in the doorway, shaking her boney finger at me saying 'you can't do that, people live here.' I mumbled some apology while trying to regain my composure and lower my heart rate. She'd scared the shit out of me and then berated me. It was obvious after talking with her that I'd never have a chance to play when she wasn't home; she was always home. I went door to door to ask the other neighbors if they minded, everyone did. These low-income shoe-box apartments have paper-thin walls, perhaps literally made of cardboard. You don't need to turn on your radio if your neighbor has already, unless you don't like that station. Sometimes we had surround sound for movies and of course, le foot. But no one ever gave me guff for strumming and singing quietly during the day, as long as I didn't tap my foot on the floor.