The phone is ringing. You pick up your coffee mug and put it to your ear. Hello. Hot coffee spills into your ear. You throw the coffee mug across the room. The phone is ringing. Hello. You stand and touch the ceiling. The ceiling is eight feet high. You are seven feet two inches tall. The phone is ringing. Hello. When you were born you weighed in at seventeen pounds and nine ounces. You had front teeth and long hair down your neck. The phone is ringing. Hello. You touch the ceiling again and stare at the marks your hands have made on the ceiling. You hate the ceiling. You punch the ceiling. The phone is ringing. Hello. You punch the walls. Decorative plates fall to the floor. The phone is ringing. Hello. You punch the ceiling again and your fist goes through, into the apartment above. The woman upstairs screams. Help. The phone is ringing. Hello. The woman upstairs falls through the hole in the ceiling and she lands in your arms. Her screaming is in your ears. Help. The phone is ringing. Hello. The woman upstairs slaps at your face, pulls on your ears. The phone is ringing. Hello. When you were a boy, you galloped in your grandfather’s fields with his ponies. You bit at their tails and grandfather slapped you. The phone is ringing. Hello. The woman has climbed out of your arms and has saddled herself on your shoulders. Help. The phone is ringing. Hello. The woman is reaching her arms into her apartment, through the hole in the ceiling. You want to let her go but you hold onto her tightly with one hand and with the other you pull at the pipes and wiring exposed in the ceiling. Now water and sparks. The phone is ringing. Hello. A broken steam pipe whistles. The woman from upstairs is biting your back. Help. You are running in place. You hear a snort from your nose when you inhale. Your lips make a blubbering sound when you exhale. The woman upstairs is bouncing on your shoulders. You wish she would laugh and enjoy the ride. But she screams again. Help. The phone is ringing. Hello.