Stompy

Stompy is the name we've given to the girl that moved in upstairs. She's a tiny girl with dark skin and long dark hair who smokes on the first floor steps that lead to the side door of our complex. Having only seen her through the strange angle of peaking through the blinds, nearly sticking my head up against the glass, I couldn't give you a better description.*

Some evenings it sounds like she rolls a bowling bowl on the floor or like tonight it was the now daily sound of hammering despite moving in two months ago; It can't still be new apartment decorating, can it?

Sometimes I wish I had a good reason to call her Stumpy instead of Stompy, like she came to close to farm machinery stumpy. Then I sorta feel guilty about all the contaminated crops and the paperwork the farmer would be responsible for.

Makes me think that if I was the stumpy one I would at least have a hella cool one of these:

* This a lie. I've come up those steps when she was there once but it was late and quite dark. B has seen her multiple times and it seems they even joke about how often it happens.