Four rooms
Two different cultures.
Room One, two young Indian parents
With a three-year-old, wailing child
Never paying full rent.
Room Two, the parents elderly mother
Who talks so loud you can hear her in the apartment
Across the street.
Room Three; a young Indian girl, who works nights
She gets home around 2:00am, and talks on her phone
In the kitchen, the walls are thin, she sounds like she is lying
In bed right next to me.
The elderly man wouldn't mind, but she is too short for his Taste.
Room Four; a white, old man, with a cat called Bebe, who is prone to
Wake her master at the break of day, just as a rooster would.
The complaints fly, the flys gather around the tonne of garbage the Indians have left on the deck. Garbage day comes and goes, the Garbage remains.
You are what you eat. I eat meat, they eat vegetables.
Ever try to talk to a vegetable?
They have immigrated from India and will not learn English.
The young mother, who only understands English when it's to her advantage, constantly complains about the weather,
The heat in their room, the sunshine, the rain, the cramped living Conditions.
She did have a job; they could have moved into an apartment months ago. Alas, she couldn't keep the job. I swear, if it wasn't for her husband, she would be begging on the street.
Room four... the old man doesn't ask for respect,
Only common courtesy.
Something they apparently have no concept of.