I just moved to a new place and met my new upstairs neighbor today. There are three apartments in this building, and we were both coming in the door at the same time. We talked a little, and he said the last tenant in my apartment listened to music too loud late at night sometimes — kind of a partier. A bartender who kept odd hours. I assured him I’d be considerate, and he said I should feel free to let him know if his washing machine ever got too loud or anything. Cool. Loud washing machine, low threshold for noise, noted. Then as we’re parting ways he says, “Oh, well, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this …” which obviously piqued my interest. No way he leaves me hanging after saying that. And, he did not. But I wish he had because the next thing he said was, “The last guy who lived here died in that apartment.” What. WHAT. This was — within the last couple weeks? The guy whose music you were just complaining about? “And we didn’t find him for like five days.” WHAT. Yes, agreed, you shouldn’t be telling me this. Please tell me there’s a point to telling me this. “Well, see you around.” What. What. And now I’m going to sleep.