Girl Down The Hall
by Emily Dickinson
The girl down the hall was home, and she was singing.
The other tenants complained, some didn't seem to notice, but, as far as he knew, he was the only one who actively enjoyed it. She sang so often that it had become one of those things he looked forward to, one of the comforts of home - and he didn't care if he was alone in that.
He peeked out through the crack of his open door.