Abandoned piece about the break in.

It's about 10.30pm and I'm just on the walk back home after dropping a friend off in town. I'm having to walk down the safari park route that is Broad St on a Saturday. I've been scared by a homeless guy, accosted by a man whose car had broken down (that's the third time in a month he's broken down and asked me for money, I politely reminded him) and generally just terrified by all the different shapes and colours one sees at this time of night. I haven't slept for about 34 or so hours because of my dear, loud neighbour, and I'm close to punching someone in the crotch. I just want to get home and veg out in front of the telly.

I get in and I hear Christmas bells. Then I hear a familiar voice. Could it be? Oh, please say it is! Oh yes! John McClane is on my television, it's Die Hard, baby! A great way to end a long, tiring weekend. I get me a drink, I sit down and talk about how awesome Die Hard is with my room mate. Then we hear something. It's people running very quickly upstairs.

“God, even the way those motherfuckers come in the building is loud and annoying.”

However, a nosy peek through the spyhole reveals that it's not the loveable rogues from across the hall, but the charming, attractive couple from upstairs.

“Is it the boys?” one of them enquires, trepidation bubbling through.

“Yeah, it's the boys.”

“Oh, fuck.”

They run upstairs.

“Um, Dale...?” I squeak out, before peering around the door to my uncaring, partially drunk house mate.

“I... think something serious might be going on.”

Dale tries to feign interest, but doesn't do an awfully good job of it. He just wants to watch Die Hard, and who can blame the man?

Then there's a sound of a door being slammed and what sounds like 6 people running upstairs. The women in the apartment below start to scream, a door is kicked in, the panic in the air is palpable. God, what do I do?

I log into Twitter, of course, and post something inane.

Back to the spyhole. The lights in our hall don't won't, so I can't really make anything out. I can hear shouting and screaming from downstairs.

“RELAX. RELAX. WHERE ARE THEY?”

More screaming, more shouting. I leave Dale to view the proceedings and decide to post more rambling on Twitter. At this moment I'm unusually calm. I turn the light off, because... you know, maybe that attracts gang members, like really angry, brutal moths.

The gang run upstairs and break another door, the inconsiderate bastards... I am TRYING to watch Die Hard, here. They've apparently got what they wanted and now they're escaping. Dale and I spot about 6 people running toward the hotel across the road. They're gone.

And I just wanted to watch my goddamn film in peace.