Mary Novaria

Melrose Place With our upstairs neighbors away, we’ve been enjoying relative peace and quiet. There are still the usual city noises, of course—motorcycles, screeching tires and sirens, mostly; and the occasional amped up banter of bar patrons staggering home in the wee hours. We miss the vacationing folks upstairs like you miss a toothache. Oh, they’re pleasant enough when we meet in the courtyard or at the recycling bin, and they have a sweet three-year-old who’s advanced enough to have real conversations—although she’s never had candy, which presented a trick-or-treat dilemma last Halloween. Trouble is, they have no idea how much noise they make. Or, maybe they do and they just don’t care. Personally, I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt and calling them clueless. My better half has dubbed them the Klompuses, in a twisted nod to their constant clomping around. (Also, an homage to Jack Klompus, a Seinfeld character and resident of Del Boca Vista. But I digress.) ...