Stepping up

The apartment complex next door holds the entire street hostage. They have some sort of used-car ring (I'm sure I don't want to know) where they park cars along the street, double-parked, daring us to say anything. They bump their music at all times of the day and night. They talk on the phone, screaming into it, on the outside balcony so we can all hear their business.

Today I said something. They sure are pissed, but at least the music got turned down.