Denby decided to wake me up at six AM by blasting very loud polka on my lawn. I could live with that. Then he gave up, and tried to relax with some jazz, and he thereby crossed the line. I will not have jazz playing on my lawn. He has now spent nearly one and a half hour experimenting with what jazz musician will send me over the edge. A little Dizzy Gillespie, some Miles Davis, more Thelonious Monk than any man should have to hear. He played Toots Thielemans, I swear, I nearly ran out there and punched him.
God help me, he is playing jazz-fusion. Mark is at work down at Cut-Of-Yo-Thumbs Collection Agency, and he won't get home until 4 o'clock. Dammit, I need that tennis ball gun!
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