About the aggravating whistle being emitted into my poor noise-polluted environs, Elaine asks “could it be a gadget? electronic?”

Sure, I thought about that too. But as time goes by and it continues, it sounds more and more human. I think it’s a poor little moron who comes out on the balcony across the alley and one row down. I asked a neighbor, who isn’t an idiot, and he concurs with my theory.

Despite my windows being closed against the evening chill, I heard it about twenty minutes ago — a quadruple tweet — and hurried out onto my balcony. I could see him over there, a bleak figure in hooded motley. Did I imagine it, or is he humpbacked? Regardless, this cretin can whistle. Loud.

I’m surprised coyotes aren’t gathering down out of the foothills, even more pissed off than me.

I stood and stared at him through the twilight, until he disappeared down the stairs.

Now I’m daydreaming about beating him into eternity with a shovel, and burying his deformed carcass in the field of baby’s breath next door. A nod to the heirs of Darwinism … a consummation devoutly to be wished.