Dan suggested that my next From The Grave entry revive a letter I wrote to a particularly horrid former neighbor about five years ago. I'm quite happy to oblige:

Dear Obnoxiously Evil Ex-Upstairs-Neighbor (not her real name):

You may have noticed that we no longer reside in the first floor unit of the building in which you live. You may be confused and frightened by this sudden change, much as a hamster becomes disoriented when his exercise wheel is relocated from one corner of his cage to another.

We have moved, and we will not be returning. This means that the Tammy Wynette songs that you play at riot-control levels will no longer reach our ears. When you yell at your children to "get in [their] fucking room," we will no longer hear you and wonder if your parenting technique is superior to ours.

Please don't misunderstand — our memories of you will not be completely negative. Your frequently changing hair color was our own private aurora borealis. We will fondly remember watching you flick cigarette butts from your patio and judging you on style, grouping, and estimated minutes subtracted from your life expectancy.

As a token of the appreciation we have for the unique experience of having lived in your vicinity, please find attached to this letter a piece of furniture that we want you to have. It is a free-standing closet, with one door conveniently ripped off to fit in with your overall decorating motif. You will find it useful for many things — we would suggest it as a possible residential solution following your next inevitable eviction.