Sub-version

 Most of us who live in multi-residence buildings, live under someone else's place. The ones at the top pay heaps more for nothing much more other than the lack of feet on floors. I must admit that I live in a building close to my age but noise occurs in all of them. When you live on a floor under others, concrete or not, there isn't much about your lofty neighbours, you don't know. Our feet can't seem to keep secrets, especially the bare ones or those in socks only. High or hard heeled feet are the bad guys. I speak of adults here, not kids. Kids wearing anything or nothing on their feet create a din that only other parents can stand for long. I live in an all adult building, thankfully. Where I live, a five year old grandchild of the folks above, had the endurance to continue running on his banging little heels for over three hours. This does not include spates of jumping off the bed onto the hardwood. Fortunately, the little dear or deer,  was visiting only over night.  I paced the din since it was supposed to be my writing time, and furthermore, my muse was definitely not amused. I try to write in my den where my desk that is falling apart drawer by drawer, along with its pile of computer/printer/ phone/ ereader and others, sits under my messy tack board, coffee cup warmer, jar of assorted pencils, none which seem ever to be sharp, and my Rolodex that holds every password I can't remember. Now you have the picture. Anyone who lives above me becomes material in my writing. I can't avoid it. I fervently wish I could.  Hearing the bare footfalls of my Ups, as I call those above, tells me everything about their lives. It's hard to do, yet easy all at the same time. I know their bathroom habits: the showers and baths, the make-up hour, the night trots and flushes, the getting ready for parties and the toothbrushing habits. The Ups dance when they brush their teeth. I am guessing they sing, too, when they shower but fortunately, voices can't be heard over the waterfall gushing down the pipes. I love their work days because I can get some writing done and when they go on holiday, it's even better. For both of us. I know their short or long trips. When the Ups go on air travel, I hear them arising at four AM so that they can rush down to the airport and wait in line for another four hours before they leave. If they are late for work, the panic in their dashing heels tells me so. Meal times in our tiny kitchens is a kind of bongo drum affair since the steps are shorter and quicker and things drop on the floor. Also to add to the mix, is the stove fan that roars away echoing down mine, too. We are all very close in this building, but not voluntarily. Once in the middle of the night,  someone fell out of bed either trying to get into it or out of it. It did not seem to be an emergency. First I heard no siren outside. There is a difference in the sound of a body falling down in a faint and one that trips and falls. The former is one huge bang while the latter happens with a series of secondary knocks such as elbows and knees, possibly hips. Also, I have given up my alarm clock because precisely around five AM,  two heels hit the floor right above my bed and I know the day has begun. Why the Ups need to get up that early would bother some people. Perhaps they work in a bakery and need to get the dough going. I don't mind early.  I love going out onto my deck for a morning coffee before the construction around me begins at seven AM. It's a kind of contest, which is worse, the backing up beepers of the construction equipment or the heel stamps of the Ups prepping for the day. I think I prefer the equipment. It won't last as long. Then again, it goes on all day. But it's not as interesting.