The light cast by Anton’s laptop imposed a silhouette onto the spackled wall behind him. Footsteps from upstairs retreated and returned and soon grew into stomps. Anton picked out only a few words from the fighting so far, but none of them legitimized the argument. Crashes from thrown objects accompanied the stomps, murmurs, and the clacking of Anton’s fingers at his keyboard.
With a shake of his head, Anton surrendered the momentum of his clacking and closed the computer. The apartment’s darkness was completed. Overhead the murmurs began to augment one another until their yells permeated Anton’s room. A loud slap silenced the yelling. A male voice yelled at its opponent and to everyone within earshot, “That’s what you get, bitch.” The slaps were repeating now as if they were a single track playing a loop over a speaker. It was several minutes before the sound stopped.
When the arguing couple restored quiet to Anton he reopened his computer. His fingers returned to the keys and were clacking away. Only for a moment did he think, “Someone should call the police.” Anton typed away without further considering his own thought.