Noisy Neighbors

For the most part, Hoboken living has brought us a quieter existence--gone are the days of the lovesick trannies, drunk teens, and feminine guys practing their dance moves underneath our bedroom window. At times, Christopher Street rivaled Bourbon Street on Mardi Gras, and my nerves had just about enough wooh hooing wake-up calls in the middle of the night.

Which brings me to our current apartment. Perched on the 4th Floor, we don't hear much. Or at least we weren't privy to any city noise until the other night when at 4 a.m. we were shocked out of bed by the sound of an extremely loud motorcycle. It was like Daytona Beach during spring break--Bike Week style throttle revs reverberating off the brownstones around our building. As I struggled to gain some semblance of where I was and what the noise was, I wondered why anyone would be riding a motorcycle at 4 a.m. in the dead of winter. A crazy person, do doubt.

Well apparently this crazy lives nearby or possibly frequents the tatoo place around the corner (a bit of an eyesore in the otherwise charming neighborhood). I heard him again, only today at 4 p.m. Just as I was scrambling to meet a deadline. Of course I got completly distracted and marched outside to see if I could catch a glimpse of him--or his license plate. All I saw was a 'cycle parked in front of the tatoo shop, but no driver. So I wrote down the plate number and went back in, too chicken to call and complain because I didn't actually see anyone on the bike.

And here we are again, 11 p.m. at night, and Mr. Harley is revving himself around the street once more. It's way too cold to go outside to see if it's the same motorcycle, so I'm hoping he gets in his kicks and puts away his motorcycle for the night--or for good.