The people who live in the apartment next door have a kid.
The kid must be in remedial music, because they play the recorder every night.
Badly. The shrill music pierced the walls.
After a while, the recorder stopped.
And things were quiet.
Until I heard an electronic keyboard playing one night.
Badly.
Every so often, actual music comes from the keyboard, but that’s the tutorial mode.
When it slips back into ugly cacophony, I know the kid has taken off the autopilot.
Want to teach the kid something useful?
Get them some headphones.
Teach them respect for the neighbors!