Shuffled feet, swishy pants fill the wooded hallway.
Knock two times, thrice he opens my door
his woolly hair massing together in a type of Jewish fro.
That breaks my concentration,
my frustration boils over.
Answering his pointless questions with short answers,
as he gallivants forth.
"Hey I never noticed that quilt before," he chatters unaware
that the tops of my arms are shivering, on end hair.
"I don't know where it came from," I answer back,
hoping he'll get the message and GET THE FUCK OUT!