Back when I lived in DC, I had an upstairs neighbor for a year with squeaky bed springs. I only met the woman in the hall once or twice and never knew her name. But for two months, every Saturday night, her bed springs would start squeaking, softly and then loudly with great vigor. It wasn’t hard to imagine what she was doing.

Except it never lasted more than five minutes. Not “Big Ed’s estimate” of five minutes but “Big Ed watching the clock” five minutes.

I felt sorry for her. And years later, this is the result.

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